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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






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POEMS OF AMERICA 



MIDDLE STATES. — WESTERN 
STATES. 



POEMS OF PLACES. 

EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION, BY 

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

"Little Classic" Style. Red Edges. 31 volumes. 

Price $1.00 a volume. The set, ^525.00. 
Vols. 1-4. England and Wales. 
5. Ireland. 
6-8. Scotland, Denmark, Iceland, Norway and Swe- 
den. 
9, ID. France and Savoy. 
1 1- 1 3. Italy. 
14, 15. Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland. 

16. Switzerland and Austria. 
17, 18. Germany. 

19. Greece and Turkey (in Europe). 

20. Russia, including Asiatic Russia. 
21-23. Asia. 

24. Africa. 
25, 26. New England. 
=. 27. Middle States. 

28. Southern States. 

29. Western States. 

30. British America, Mexico, South America. 

31. Oceanica. 

" Those who have not a library of the poets will find this se- 
ries a repository of their choicest productions, and all associ- 
ated with some place of interest.'' — New York Observer. 

"It is surprising to find how very rich the selections are 
from the best poets of all lands. Each volume is a choice 
repertory of the finest poems in the language." — SoiUJiern 
Quarterly. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., Boston, Mass. 



POEMS OF AMERICA 



EDITED BY^ ' 

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 



MIDDLE STATES.— WESTERN 
STATES 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 







'Ty 



0FWA£ 



BOSTON 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 

1SS2 



Copyright, 1878. 
By henry W. LONGFELLOW. 



"J 

t 



CONTENTS 



MIDDLE STATES. 



INTRODUCTORY. 

New York Anonymous . 

New Jersey H. Morford . 

Pennsylvania J. G. TVliittier 

Delaware B. Taylor . , 

To Delaware J. G. WhUtier 

ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS, PA. 

Crossing the Alleghanies J. K. Paulding . 

A3IENIA, N. Y. 

Amenu H. N. Powers . . 

AUSABLE, THE RIVER, N. Y. 

The Ausable A. B. Street . . 

AusABLE 0. JV. IVithington 

BARNEGAT, N. J. 

The Wrecker's 0.\Tn on Barnegat . . H. Morford . . 

BAY RIDGE, N. Y. 

At Bay Ridge, Long Island . . 

BEAYERKILL, the RIVER, N. Y. 

The Island 

BETHLEHEM, PA. 

Hymn of the Moravian Nuns at the Con- 
secration OP Pulaski's Banner . . . H. W. Longfclloiv 
BLOOMINGDALE, N. Y. 

Woodman, spare that tree G. P. Morris . . 

BRANDYWINE, THE RIVER, PA. 

The Brandywine E. M. Chandler . 

To THE Brandywine B. Taylor . . . 



. 1 
. 4 
. 5 
. 9 
. 10 

. 13 

. 15 



T. B. Aldrich 



A. B. Street 



20 



25 



25 



28 



29 



31 



VI CONTENTS. 

BROOKLYN, N. Y. 

Greenwood Cemetery P. Benjamin ... 35 

Greenwood S. M. Hagerman . . 36 

Going to Greenwood H. Morford ... 38 

Greenwood Cemetert W. Wallace ... 39 

CALLICOON, THE RIVER, N. Y. 

The Callicoon in Autumn A. B. Street ... 42 

CANEPO, THE LAKE, N. Y. 

Lake Canepo H. T. Tuckernian . 46 

CATSKILL MOUNTAINS, N. Y. 

Catskill Mountains T. S. Fay .... 48 

Catskill B. Taylor .... 49 

Catterskill Falls W. C. Bryant ... 50 

CAYUGA, THE LAKE, N. Y. 

Catuga Lake A. B. Street ... 54 

CHAMPLAIN, THE LAKE, N. Y. 

Lake Champl.\in H. T. Tuckerman . 58 

Burgoyne's Fleet A. B. Street ... 61 

DELAWARE, THE RIVER. 

The Freshet A. B. Street ... 66 

The Delaware Water-Gap E. F. Ellet. ... 70 

ELIZABETH, N. J. 

Fuit Ilium E. C. Stedman . . 71 

ERIE, THE LAKE, N. Y. 

Lake Erie E. Peahody ... 75 

Victory on Lake Erie . . . J. G. Percival. . . 77 



FIRE ISLAND, N. Y. 

On the Death of M. D'Ossou and his 
Wife Margaret Fuller W. S. Landor. . . 79 

GENESEE, THE RIVER, N. Y. 

My own dark Genesee W. H. C. Hosmer. . 80 

GEORGE (HORICON), THl: LAKE, N. Y. 

Lake George G, S. Hillard ... 81 

■ HoRicoN H. Morford ... 85 

Lake George A. C. Coxe .... 86 

GETTYSBURG, PA. 

The Hive at Gettysburg J. G. l^Hiittier . . 89 

Lincoln at Gettysburg B. Taylor .... 90 

John Burns of Gettysburg B. Harte .... 93 



CONTEXTS. 



Vll 



HUDSON, THE RITER, N. Y. 

The Hudson M. V. Fangeres . . 97 

A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson JF. C. Bryant . . 98 

The Hudson 0. JV. Holmes . . 99 

The Hudson J. B. Drake ... 100 

The Wrkck of the Ancient Coastee . F.-G. Halleck . . 101 

The Gates of the Hudson IV. 0. Stoddard . . 102 

To the Hudson E. 0. Smith . . .104 

Hudson River T. W. Parsons . . 104 

The Indian Mound A. B. Street . . . 108 

Hymn to the Hudson River . . . . W. Wallace . . . Ill 

LEHIGH, THE RIVER, PA. 

The Lehigh A. Moore .... 114 

MAHOPAC, THE LAKE, N. Y. 

Lake Mahopac CM. Saivyer . . 116 

MOHAWK, THE RIVER, N. Y. 

The Cataract of the Mohawk . . . . R. H. Home . . . 118 

Falls of the Mohawk T. Moore .... 119 

MONGAUP, THE RIVER, N. Y. 

The Falls of the Mongaup A. B. Street . . .120 

MONMOUTH, N. J. 

The Spur of Monmouth H. Morford . . . 122 

Molly Maguire at Mon.mouth .... IF. Collins . . . 126 

Mon:\iouth E. C. Stedman . .129 

NEVERSINK, N. J. 

Neversink p. Freneau . . .131 

NEWARK, N. J. 

The Distant Mart T. B. Read . . .133 

NEW YORK, THE CITY, N. Y. 

Nieuw Amsterdam E. C. Stedman . . 135 

New York Harbor on a Calm Day . . P. Benjamin. . . 136 

Hymn op the City W. C. Bryant . . 137 

Spring in Town " " . . 138 

The City of Ships JF. llliitman . . 1-39 

New York T. S. Fay .... 140 

Unseen Spirits N. P. Willis . . .141 

Broadway W. A. Butler . . 142 

The Bowling Green T. G. Appleton . . 144 

On the Pier K H. Stoddard . . 146 

The Ferry-Boat " " . . 147 

Headquarters of Washington .... W. H. C. Hosmcr . 148 

Pan in Wall Street E. C. Stedman . . 149 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

NIAGARA THE RIVER. 

The Falls op Niagara J. G. C. Brainard . 152 

Niagara J. M. Heredia . . 153 

Niagara Falls Lord Morpeth . . 155 

Nugara H. H. Brownell . . 155 

NLiGARA Anonymous . . . 158 

Niagara T.G. Appleton . . 159 

Niagara L. H. Sigourney . 161 

Avery W. D. Hoxcells . . 163 

Goat Island T. G. Appleton . . 167 

The Cataract Isle C. P. Cranch. . . 167 

NORMAN'S KILL (TAWASENTHA), N. Y. 

The Falls of Norman's Kill . . . . A. B. Street . . .169 

TAWASENTHA H. W. Longfcllow . 171 

The Forest Cemetery C. F. Hoffman . . 172 

ONTARIO, THE LAKE, N. Y. 

Lake Ontario E. F. Ellet . . .175 

Lake Ontario J. Neal 177 

ORISKANY, N. Y. 

Battle op Oriskant CD. Helvier. . . 178 

OTSEGO, THE LAKE, N. Y. 

Otsego Lake Anonymous . . . 179 

PASSAIC, THE RIYER, N. J. 

The Falls of the Passaic W. Irving . . . 180 

PERKIOMEN, THE RIVER, PA. 

The Perkiomen I. R Fennypacker . 182 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

Philadelphia H. W. Longfellow . 183 

The Meschianza T. B. Read ... 185 

Battle of the Kegs F. Hopkinson . . 188 

The Little Black-Eyed Rebel .... Anonymous . . . 193 

Pewter Platter Alley P. Freneau . . . 195 

Laurel Hn.L S. Bridges. . . .196 

The Burial-Place at Laurel Hill . . W. G. Clark . . .198 

Chalkley Hall J. G. Whittier . . 200 

The Centennial, July 4, 1876 . . . . C. F. Bates . . .202 

PITTSBURG, PA. 

Pittsburg J. K. Paulding . . 203 

POCANTICO, THE RIVER, N. Y. 

The Pocantico S. H. Thayer . . 204 

RACKET, THE RIVER, N. Y. 

Down the Racket A. B. Street . . .206 



CONTENTS. IX 

RED MILL, THE RTVER, N. Y. 

The Red Mill Fall A. B. Street ... 207 

ROCKAWAY, N. Y. 

RocKAWAY H. J. Sliarpe . . .209 

ROSLYN, N Y. 

Bryant's Birthday C. F. Bates . . .209 

SARANAC, THE LAKES, N. Y. 

The Lower Saranac A. B. Street . . . 210 

The Upper Saranac " " ... 212 

SARATOGA, N. Y. 

The Field of the Grounded Arms . . F.-G. Halleck . . 213 

SAR.VrOGA, THE LAKE, N. Y. 

Lake Saratoga J.G. Saxe .... 215 

SCHOHARIE, N. Y. 

The Sabbath Evening TTalk .... G. IF. Greene . . 217 

SENECA, THE LAKE, N. Y. 

To Seneca Lake J. G. Pcrcival . . 218 

Seneca Lake " " . . 219 

SHELTER ISLAND, N. Y. 

My Native Isle M. G. Horsford . . 223 

SHREWSBURY, N. J. 

A Wreck in Shrewsbury Inlet . . . H. Morford . . . 225 

SODUS BAY, N. Y. 

SoDus Bay E. F. Ellet . . .227 

SPRINGFIELD, N. J. 

Caldwell of Springfield B. Harte .... 229 

STATEN ISLAND, N. Y. 

At Home in Staten Island C. Mackay . . . 231 

SUSQUEHANNA, THE RIVER, PA. 

Susquehanna E. F. Ellet ... 233 

Meeting of the Susquehanna and the 
Lackawanna L. H. Sigourncy . 234 

TAPPAN, N. Y. 

Andr6 C. F. Bates ... 236 

TARRYTOWN, N. Y. 

In the Churchyard at Tarrytown . . H. W. Longfellow . 237 

Sleepy Hollow H. 2\ Tuckennan . 237 

Sleepy Hollow Church and Irving's 
Grave S. H. Thayer . . 239 



X CONTENTS. 

TICONDEROGA, N. Y. 

TiCONDEROGA V. B. WUsoii . . 241 

TRAPPE, THE, PA. 

The Old Church Anonymous . . . 243 

TRENTON, N. J. 

Battle of Trexton " ... 246 

TRENTON FALLS, N. Y. 

Trenton Falls M. Loioell .... 247 

Written at Trenton Falls F. A. Kemble . . 248 

VALLEY FORGE, PA. 

Valley Forge T. B. Bead . . . 249 

WATKINS GLEN, N. Y. 

The Watkins Glen at the Head of 
Seneca Lake A. B. Street . . .252 

WEEHAWKEN, N. J. 

Weehawken F.-G. Hnlleck . . 258 

Weehawken B. C. Sands . . .260 

WEST POINT, N. Y. 

West Point H. T. Tucker man . 262 

The Graveyard at West Point . . . W. A. Butler . . 264 

WHITE LAKE, N. Y. 

White Lake A. B. Street . . . 266 

WILLEWEMOC, THE RIVER, N. Y. 

The Willewemoc in Summer . . . . A. B. Street . . . 268 

WILMINGTON, DEL. 

St. John's Church Anonymous . . . 272 

WYALUSING, THE LAKE, PA. 

Lake Wyalusing W. H. C. Hosmcr . 273 

WYOMING, PA. 

Wyoming T. Cam-pbell . . . 275 

Wyoming F.-G. Halledc . . 276 



CONTEJ^TS 



WESTEEN STATES. 

INTRODUCTORY. Page 

TuE Far West H. W. Longfellow . 1 

To THE West! To the West! . . . . C. Mackay ... 3 

The Pioneees " ... 4 

To the West W. D. Gallagher . 5 

To an Indian Mound T. H. Shreve ... 9 

A Mirage of the West J. J. Piatt ... 11 

Ohio H. W. Longfellow . 11 

Indiana Anonymous ... 14 

Illinois M. F. D' Ossoli . . 15 

Fires in Illinois J. J. Piatt ... 17 

Elsie in Illinois L. Larcom ... 19 

Michigan H. R. Schoolcraft . 23 

Kentucky S. AT. B. Piatt . . 25 

Mr Old Iventucky Home S. C. Foster ... 26 

Tennessee A. Pike .... 28 

Kansas J. G. Mliittier . . 29 

Arkansas A. Pike .... 80 

Minnesota 0. W. Holmes . . 31 

California /. Miller .... 32 

California L. H. Sigourncy . 35 

The Canon J. Miller .... 36 

California's Greeting to Seward . . . B. llarte .... 39 

On Leaving Californu B. Taylor .... 41 

Arizona J. Miller .... 42 

Alaska . . . T. Campbell ... 44 

An Arctic Vision B. Harte .... 45 

ARKANSAS, THE RIVER. 

Night on the Arkansas A. Pike .... 49 

A Picture W. 0. Stoddard . . 50 

The River's Lesson " . . 50 



Xll CONTENTS. 

BIG HORN, THE RIVER, MONTANA TER. 

The Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face . , H. W. Longfellow . 51 
CusTEE o E. C. Stedman . . 53 

BLUE LICK SPRINGS, KY. 

The Shadows in the Valley . . . . H. L. Flash ... 55 

CALAVERAS, GAL. 

On a Cone of the Big Trees . , . . B. Harte .... 67 

CHICAGO, ILL. 

Chicago J. G. IVliittier . . 59 

Chicago B. Harte .... 60 

Chicago J. B. O'Reilly . . 61 

CINCINNATI, OHIO. 

To Cincinnati E. A. iPLanglilin . 62 

The Old Mound . C. A. Jones ... 64 

COLUMBIA, THE RIVER, WASH. TER. 

The River Columbia IF. Gibson ... 66 

COTEAU DES PRAIRIES, DAKOTA TER. 

The Peace-Pipe H. W. Longfelloiu . 68 

BOW'S FLAT, CAL. 

Dow's Flat B. Harte .... 73 

ERIE, THE LAKE. 

Lake Erie E. Pcabody ... 77 

HURON, THE RIVER, MICH. 

To A Swan flying at MIDN^GHT . . . L. L. Noble ... 78 

KANAWHA, THE RIVER, WEST VA, 

The Kanawha L. Minge .... 81 

The Good Part that shall not be ta- 
ken AWAY H. W. Longfelloiu . 82 

LONGMONT, COLORADO. 

A Sunset at Longmont H. N. Powers . . 84 

LOOKOUT, THE MOUNTAIN, TENN. 

Lookout Mountain G. D. Prentice . . 86 

LOUISVILLE, KY. 

Cave Hill Cemetery " . . 89 

MADISON, WIS. 

The Four Lakes of Madison . . . . H. W. Longfellow . 91 

MAJIMOTII CAVE, KY. 

Mammoth Cave G. D. Prentice . , 92 

The Rivek m the Mammoth Cave . . " . . 96 



CONTENTS. 



XIU 



MARAIS DU CYGNE, KANSAS. 

Le Mar^ms du Cygne J. G. Whittier 

MEMPHIS, TENN. 

Memphis 



MIAMI, THE RIVER, OHIO. 
Miami Woods 



J. T. Trowlridge 
W. D. Gallagher 



MICHIGAN, THE LAKE. 

Lake Michigan K. Harrington . 

Marquette J. H. Perkins . 

MINNEHAHA, THE FALLS, MINN. 

The Falls of 3IrNNEHAHA H. W. Longfellow 

MISSION DOLORES, CAL. 

The Angelus £. Harte . . . 

MISSION RIDGE, TENN. 

On the Heights of Mission Ridge 

MISSISSIPPI, THE RIVER. 

The Mississippi River 

To THE Mississippi . 

Brother Antonio . 
t' On the Bluff. . . 

The Mississippi . . 



J. A. Signaigo 

S. J. Hale. . 
C. T. Brooks . 
J. C. KetcTmm 
J. Hay . . . 
E. Reynolds . 



. 97 

. 100 

. 102 

. 104 
. 106 

. 109 

. 110 

. 112 



. 113 
. 116 
. 118 
. 122 
. 123 



MONTEREY, CAL. 

The Pine Forest of Monteret 

MOUNT ROSE, NEVADA. 

Mount Rose 



B. Taylor . 
J. B, Kaye 



OHIO, THE RIVER. 

Passage down the Ohio J. K. Paulding . 

The Ohio G. von Auersferg 

The Ohio T, B. Read . . 

Blenneruasset's Island " . . 

The Beautiful River E. Reynolds . , 

The Ohio E. Peabody . . 

PASO DEL MAR, CAL. 

The Fight of Paso Del Mae . . . . B. Taylor . . . 

PESCADERO, CAL. 

The Pescadero Pebbles M. J. Savage. . 

PINE BLUFFS, ARK. 

The Old Wharf L. R. Messenger . 



. 124 
. 128 

. 131 
. 132 
. 135 
. 138 
. 143 
. 144 

. 145 
. 148 
. 150 



XIV 



CONTENTS. 



PLAINS, THE. 

The Plains J. Miller . . . 

The Mirage J. B. Kaye . . 

The Little Lone Grave on the Plains . " . . 

The Plains J. Miller . . . 

POINT LOBOS, CAL. 

At Point Lobos C. W. Stoddard. 

PRAIRIES, THE. 

The Prairies W. C. Bryant . 

The Hunter of the Prairies .... " 

,- The Prairie J. Hay . . . , 

The Prairie J. G. Whittier 

Lost on the Prairie R. T. Cooke . . 

The Prairie on Fire G. P. Morris. . 

The Prairie G. P. Guerricr . 

A Prairie-Dog Village E. B. Nealley . 

A Prairie Ride M. S. Sibley . . 

A Prairie Nest L. Larconi . . 

ROCKY MOUNTAINS, THE. 

On Recrossing the Rocky Mountains m 
Winter, after many Years .... Anonymous . . 

Lines written on the Rocky Mountains A. Pike . . . 
SACRAMENTO, THE RIVER, CAL. 

Rio Sacramento B. Taylor . . . 

ST. GEORGE AND ST. PAUL, THE ISL- 
ANDS, ALASKA. 

Christmas Chimes in Distant Isles . . G. B. Griffith . 
ST. LOUIS, MO. 

Up the River-Side F. Foy . . . . 

St. Louis " . . . . 



SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. 

HVMN FOR THE OPENING OF StARR KING'S 

House of Worship J. G. \Mrittter 

San Francisco B. Ilarte . 

Lone Mountain Cemetery " 

The Golhen Gate E. Pollock 

At the Golden Gate H. Morford 

Presidio de San Francisco, 1800 . , . B. Harte . 
SANGAMON, THE RB^ER, ILL. 

The Painted Cup W. C. Bryant 

SAN JOAQUIN, CAL. 

The Wonderful Spring of San Joaquin . B. Harte . . 



152 
154 
157 
159 

159 

162 
166 
168 
170 
171 
172 
]73 
174 
176 
177 



180 
182 

184 

185 

187 



189 
191 
193 
194 
196 
198 

205 

206 



CONTENTS. XV 

SANTA CRUZ, THE ISLAND, CAL. 

To A Sea-Bird B. Harte . . . .210 

SHILOII (PITTSBURG LANDING), TENN. 

The Old Sergeant F. Willson . . . 211 

SIERRA MADRE, NEW MEXICO TER. 

On the Summit of the Sierra Madre . G. D. Prentice . . 217 

SIERRA NEVADA, CAL. 

To the Sierras J. J. Owen . . . 219 

STANISLAUS, THE RIVER, CAL. 

The Society upon the Stanislow . . . B. Harte .... 220 

SUPERIOR. THE LAKE. 

On Receiving an Eagle's Quill from 

Lake Superior J. G. IVhittier . . 222 

Lake Superior S. G. Goodrich . . 225 

The Grand Sable H. W. Longfellow . 227 

The Pictured Rocks " . 229 

The Three Ships J. C. R. Dorr . . 231 

Hiawatha's Departure H. W. Longfellow . 233 

TABLE MOUNTAIN, CAL. 

Plain Language from Truthful James . B. Harte . . . .240 

TAMALPAIS, CAL. 

TAMALP.US C.W. Stoddard . . 242 

TENNESSEE, THE RIVER. 

On the Shores or the Tennessee . . Anonymous . . . 244 

VINCENNES, IND. 

The Three Mounds T. C. Upham . . 248 

WABASH, THE RIVER. 

The Wabash M. Thompson . . 250 

The Wabash J. B. L. Soule . . 250 

WHITE PINE, NEVADA. 

The Miner's Bueial J. B. Kaye . . .252 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



MIDDLE STATES. 

"Came the dun files of Krisheim's home-bound cows 

" A pleasant vale " 

" Far in the forest's heart "...., 

" These lovely shores " 

" The Hudson's sleeping waters " . 

" This rock-walled sable pool " . 

*' Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth " 

" The moon was climbing the sky that night " . 

" O Haunted Lake, among the pine-clad mountains " 

Perkiomen the River 

" Wild rivulet of wood and glen " . 
'* As when the hermit waters woke 

Beneath the Indian's bark " ... 



Page 

5 '' 
15 
42^ 

97 V 
121 V 

1381/ 
146 V 

179'/ 
183 '' 

205 V 
267 V' 



WESTERN STATES. 

« Land of the West " 5 ^^ 

" We cross the prairie as of old " 29 v 

" From towers undefiled by man " 37 v 

The Yellowstone 51 , 

" Oh, what a still, bright night " 78'^ 

"The autumn time is with us " ..... 102 i'^ 
" Thy mountain shores between " . . . . . 144/ 
" I plant me where the red deer feed "... 167 l/ 
" The little prairie dog here builds his burrow " . •175'^' 
" These mountains, piercing the blue sky" . . . 182 / 

San Francisco in 1849 197 ^ 

" Till the Black Robed chief, the pale face " . . 236 . 



MIDDLE STATES. 




Il^fTEODUOTOET. 



NEW YORK. 

hendrik's prophecy. 

The words of the refrain in this song are those used by Henry Hudson 
himself, when he first brought his ship through the Narrows, and saw 
the bay of New York. 

FLOW fair beside the Palisades, flow, Hudson, fair 
and free. 
By proud Manhattan's shore of ships and green 

Hoboken's tree ; 
So fair yon haven clasped its isles, in such a sunset 

gleam. 
When Hendrik and his sea-worn tars first sounded up 

the stream. 
And climbed this rocky palisade, and resting on its 

brow. 
Passed round the can and gazed awhile on shore and 

wave below; 
And Hendrik drank with hearty cheer, and loudly 

then cried he : 
" 'T is a good land to fall in with, men, and a pleasant 

land to see ! " 



3 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Then sometliiiig — ah, 't was prophecy ! — came glowing 

to his brain : 
He seemed to see the mightier space between the 

oceans twain. 
Where other streams by other strands run through 

their forests fair, 
Trom bold Missouri's lordly tide to the leafy Delaware ; 
The Sacramento, too, he saw, with its sands of secret 

gold. 
And the sea-like Mississippi on its long, long courses 

rolled ; 
And great thoughts glowed within him ; — " God bless 

the land," cried he; 
" 'T is a good land to fall in with, men, and a pleasant 

land to see ! 

" I see the white sails on the main, along the land I view 
The forests opening to the light and the bright axe 

flashing through ; 
I see the cots and village ways, the churches with 

their spires, 
Where once the Indians camped and danced the war- 
dance, round their fires; 
I see a stonn come up the deep, — 't is huriying, 

raging, o'er 
The darkened fields, — but soon it parts, with a sullen, 

seaward roar. 
'T is gone ; the heaven smiles out again — God loves 

the land," cried he ; 
** 'T is a good land to fall in with, men, and a pleasant 

land to see ! 



INTRODUCTORY. 3 

"I sec the white sails ou the main, I see, on all the 

strands, 
Old Eui'ope's exiled households crowd, and toil's un- 
numbered hands — 
From Hcssenland and Prankenland, from Danube, 

Drave, and Rhine, 
Prom Netherland, my sea-born land, and the Norseman's 

hills of pine, 
Trom Thames, and Shannon, and their isles — and 

never, sure, before. 
Invading host such greeting found upon a stranger 

shore. 
The generous Genius of the West his welcome proiFcrs 

free : 
"T is a good land to fall in with, men, and a pleasant 

land to see ! ' 

" They learn to speak one language ; they raise one 

flag adored 
Over one people evermore, and guard it with the sword. 
In festive hours, they look upon its starry folds above, 
And hail it with a thousand songs of glory and of love. 
Old airs of many a fatherland still mingle with the cheer. 
To make the love more loving still, the glory still more 

dear — 
Drink up-sees out ! join hands about ! bear chorus all," 

chants he ; 

" 'T is a good land to faU in with, men, and a pleasant 

land to see ! " 

Ano7iy7nous. 



POEMS OF PLACES. 
NEW JERSEY. 

THE BKOWN-EYED GIRLS OF JERSEY. 

BEFORE my bark the waves have curled 
As it bore me thrice around the world; 
And for forty years have met my eyes 
The beauties born under wide-spread skies. 
But though far and long may be my track, 
It is never too far for looking back; 
And I see them, — see them, over the sea, 
As I saw them when youth still dwelt vrith me, — 
The brown-eyed girls of Jersey ! 

They are Quakers, half, — half maids of Spain; 
Half Yankees, with fiery Southern brain; 
They are English, French, — they are Irish elves ; 
They are better than all, in being themselves ! 
They are coaxing tilings, — then wild and coy; 
They are full of tears, — full of mirth and joy. 
They madden the brain, like rich old wine : 
And no wonder at all if they 've maddened mine, — 
Those brown-eyed girls of Jersey ! 

Some day, when distant enough my track, 
To the Land of the Free I shall wander back; 
And if not too gray, both heart and hair, 
To win the regard of a thing so fair, — • 
I shall try the power of the blarney-stone 
In making some darling girl my o^vn, — 
Some darling girl, that still may be 
Keeping all her beauty and grace for me, — 
Some brown-eyed girl of Jersey ! 

Henry Morford, 




" Came the duu files of Krisheim's home-bound cows." See page 



INTRODUCTORY. 



PENNSYLVANIA. 



NEVER in tenderer quiet lapsed tlie day 
Erom Pennsylvania's vales of spring away, 
Where, forest-walled, the seattered hamlets lay 

Along the wedded rivers. One long bar 
Of purple cloud, on wliich the evening star 
Shone like a jewel on a scimitar. 

Held the sky's golden gateway. Through the deep 
Hush of the woods a murmur seemed to creep, 
The Schuylkill whispering in a voice of sleep. 

All else was still. The oxen from their ploughs 
Rested at last, and from their long day's browse 
Came the dun files of Krisheim's home-bound cows. 

And the young city, round Avliose virgin zone 
The rivers hke two mighty arms were thrown. 
Marked by the smoke of evening fires alone. 

Lay in the distance, lovely even then 
With its fair women and its stately men 
Gracing the forest court of William Pemi, 

Urban yet sylvan; in its rough-hewn frames 
Of oak and pine the dryads held their claims, 
And lent its streets their pleasant woodland names. 

* * * 

Was it caressing air, the brooding love 
Of tenderer skies than German land knew of. 
Green calm below, blue quietness above, 



POEMS OF PLACES. 

Still flow of water, deep repose of wood 
That, with a sense of loving Fatherhood 
And childlike trust in the Eternal Good, 

Softened all hearts, and dulled the edge of hate. 
Hushed strife, and taught impatient zeal to wait 
The slow assurance of the better state ? 

Who knows what goadings in their sterner way 
O'er jagged ice, relieved by granite gray. 
Blew round the men of Massachusetts Bay ? 

"What hate of heresy the east-wind woke? 
What hints of pitiless power and terror spoke 
In waves that on their iron coast-line broke ? 

Be it as it may; within the Land of Penn 

The sectary yielded to the citizen. 

And peaceful dwelt the many-creeded men. 

Peace brooded over all. No trumpet stung 
The air to madness, and no steeple flung 
Alarums down from bells at midnight 



runsr. 



The land slept well. The Indian from his face 
Washed all his war-paint off, and in the place 
Of battle-marches sped the peaceful chase, 

Or wrought for wages at the white man's side, — 
Giving to kindness what his native pride 
And lazy freedom to all else denied. 

And well the curious scholar loved the old 
Traditions that his swarthy neighbors told 
By wigwam-fires when nights were growing cold, 



INTRODUCTORY. 7 

Discerned the fact round which their fancy drew 
Its dreams, and held their childish faith more true 
To God and man than half the creeds he knew. 

The desert blossomed round him ; wheat-fields rolled^ 
Beneath the warm wind, waves of green and gold ; 
The planted ear returned its hundredfold. 

Great clusters ripened in a warmer sun 

Than that which by the Rhine stream shines upon 

The purpling hillsides with low vines o'errun. 

About each rustic porch the humming-bird 
Tried with hght bill, that scarce a petal stirred. 
The Old World flowers to virgin soil transferred; 

And the first-fruits of pear and apple, bending 
The young boughs do^vn, their gold and russet blending, 
Made glad his heart, familiar odors lending 

To the fresh fragrance of the birch and pine. 

Life-everlasting, bay, and eglantine, 

And all the subtle scents the woods combine. 

Fair First-Day mornings, steeped in summer calm 
Warm, tender, restful, sweet T^dth woodland balm, 
Came to him, like some mother-hallowed psalm 

To the tired grinder at the noisy wheel 
Of labor, winding off from memory's reel 
A golden thread of music. With no peal 

Of bells to call them to the house of praise. 
The scattered settlers through green forest-ways 
Walked meeting-ward. lu reverent amaze 



POEMS OF PLACES. i 

1 

The Indian trapper saw them, from the dim i 

Shade of the alders on the rivulet's rim, 

Seek the Great Spirit's house to talk with Him. 

There, through the gathered stillness multiplied 
And made intense by sympathy, outside 

The sparrows sang, and the gold-robin cried, j 

i 

A-swing upon his elm, A faint perfume . 

Breathed through the open windows of the room | 

From locust-trees, heavy with clustered bloom. i 

Thither, perchance, sore-tried confessors came, 

Wliose fervor jail nor pillory could tame, ; 

Proud of the cropped ears meant to be their shame, — ' 

Men who had eaten slavery's bitter bread 1 
In Indian isles ; pale women who had bled 
Under the hangman's lash, and bravely said 

God's message through their prison's iron bars; 

And gray old soldier-converts, seamed with scars I 

Prom every stricken field of England's wars i 

Lowly before the Unseen Presence knelt ; 

Each waiting heart, till haply some one felt ' 

On his moved lips the seal of silence melt. | 

Or, without spoken words, low breathings stole ' 

Of a diviner life from soul to soul, I 

Baptizing hi one tender thought the whole. ; 

Wlien shaken hands announced the meeting o'er, \ 

The friendly group still lingered at the door, \ 

Greeting, inquiring, sharing all the store | 

i 
I 

J 



INTRODUCTORY. V 

Of weekly tidings. Meanwhile youth and maid 
Down the green vistas of the woodland strayed, 
Whispered and sniiled and oft their feet delayed. 

Did the boy's whistle answer baek the thrushes ? 
Did hght girl laughter ripple through the bushes 
As brooks make merry over roots and rushes ? 

Unvcxed the sweet air seemed. Without a wound 
The ear of silence heard, and every sound 
Its place in nature's fine accordance found. 

And solemn meeting, summer sky and wood, 
Old kindly faces, youth and maidenhood 
Seemed, like God's new creation, very good! 
* * * 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 

DELAWARE. 

PEACH-BLOSSOM, 

NIGHTLY the hoar-frost freezes 
The young grass of the field, 
Nor yet have blander breezes 

The buds of the oak unsealed; 
Not yet pours out the vine 
His airy resinous wine; 
But over the southern slope 
The wands of the peach-tree first 
Into rosy beauty burst; 
A breath, and the sweet buds ope ! 
A day, and the orchards bare. 



10 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Like maids in haste to be fair. 

Lightly themselves adorn 

With a scarf the Spring at the door 

Has sportively flung before, 

Or a stranded cloud of the morn ! 

* * * 

Afar, through the mellow hazes 

Wliere the dreams of June are stayed. 
The hills, in their vanishing mazes. 

Carry the flush, and fade! 
Southward they fall, and reach 
To the bay and the ocean beach. 
Where the soft, half- Syrian air 
Blows from the Chesapeake's 
Lilets, coves, and creeks 
On the fields of Delaware! 
And the rosy lakes of flowers. 
That here alone are ours. 
Spread into seas that pour 
Billow and spray of pink. 
Even to the blue wave's brink. 
All down the Eastern Shore ! 



Bayard Taylor, 



TO DELAWARE. 



THRICE welcome to thy sisters of the East, 
To the strong tillers of a rugged home, 
With spray-wet locks to Northern winds released. 
And hardy feet o'erswept by ocean's foam; 



INTRODUCTOEY. 11 

And to the young nymphs of the golden West, 

Whose harvest mantles, fringed with prairie bloom, 
Trail in the sunset, — redeemed and blest. 

To the warm welcome of thy sisters come ! 
Broad Pennsylvania down her sail-white bay 

Shall give thee joy, and Jersey from her plains. 
And the great lakes, where Echo, free alway. 

Moaned never shoreward with the clank of chains. 
Shall weave new sun-bows in their tossing spray, 
And all their waves keep grateful holiday. 
And, smiling on thee through her inountain rains, 

Vermont shall bless thee ; and the Granite peaks, 
And vast Katahdin o'er his woods, shall wear 
Their snow-crowns brighter in the cold keen air; 

And Massachusetts, with her rugged cheeks 
O'errun with grateful tears, shall turn to thee, 

Wlien, at thy bidding, the electric wire 

Shall tremble northward with its words of fire ; 
Glory and praise to God ! another State is free ! 

John Greenleaf JFAiitier, 



MIDDLE STATES 



Alleghany Mountains, Pa, 

CROSSING THE ALLEGHANIES. 

AS looked the traveller for tlie world below. 
The lively morning breeze began to blow. 
The magic curtain rolled in mists away, 
And a gay landscape laughed upon the day. 
As light the fleeting vapors upward glide. 
Like sheeted spectres on the mountain side. 
New objects open to his wonderhig view 
Of various form, and combinations new, 
A rocky precipice, a waving wood, 
Deep winding dell, and foaming mountain flood, 
Each after each, with coy and sweet delay, 
Broke on his sight, as at young dawn of day, 
Bounded afar by peak aspiring bold, 
Like giant capt with helm of burnished gold. 



Now down the mountain's rugged western side, 
Descending slow, our lowly travellers hied. 
Deep in a narrow glen, within whose breast 



14 POEMS OF PLACES. 

The rolling fragments of the mountain rest ; 

Rocks tumbled on each other, by rude chance. 

Crowned with gay fern, and mosses, met the glance, 

Through which a brawling river braved its way, 

Dashing among the rocks in foamy spray. 

Here, mid the fragments of a broken world, 

In wild and rough confusion idly hurled. 

Where ne'er was heard the woodman's echoing stroke. 

Rose a huge forest of gigantic oak; 

With heads that towered half up the mountain's side. 

And arms extending round them far and wide. 

They looked coeval with old mother Earth, 

And seemed to claim with her an equal birth. 

* * * 

The forest roared, the everlasting oak 
In writhing agonies the storm bespoke, 
The live leaves scattered wildly everywhere, 
Whirled round in maddening circles in the air. 
The stoutest limbs were scattered all around. 
The stoutest trees a stouter master found. 
Crackling and crashing, down they thundering go. 
And seem to crush the shrinking rocks below : 
Then the thick rain in gathering torrents poured. 
Higher the river rose, and louder roared ; 
And on its dark, quick eddying surface bore 
The gathered spoils of Earth along its shore; 
While trees, that not an hour before had stood 
The lofty monarchs of the stately wood. 
Now whirling round and round with furious force. 
Dash 'gainst the rocks that break the torrent's force. 
And shiver, hke a reed by urchin broke 




" A pleasant vale " See page 15. 




AMENIA. 15 

Through idle mischief, or with heedless stroke; 
A hundred cataracts, unknown before, 
Rush down the mountain's side with fearful roar; 
And as with foaming fury down they go, 
Loose the firm rocks and thunder them below, 
Blue lightnings from the dark cloud's bosom sprung, 
Like serpents menacing with forked tongue, 
While many a sturdy oak that stiffly braved 
The threatening hurricane that round it raved, 
Shivered beneath its bright resistless flash. 
Came tumbling down amain with fearful crash. 
Air, Earth, and Skies seemed now to try their power, 
And struggle for the mastery of the hour; 
Higher the waters rose, and blacker still, 
And threatened soon the narrow vale to fill. 

John Kirke Paulding. 



Amenta, N, Y. 

AMENIA. 

A PLEASANT vale ; bright fields that lie 
On gentle slopes and knolls of green; 
Steep mountains sharp against the sky; 
Clear streams and tiny lakes between. 

Cool bowery lanes 'mong happy hills ; 

Old groves that shade ancestral eaves; 
Earms which the prosperous season fills 

With flocks, and fruits, and golden sheaves. 



16 POEMS OF PLACES. 

A holy feeling soothes the air, 

The woodlands stand in musings sweet. 

It seems as if the heart of prayer 
In all this. charmed valley beat. 

The hills are voiced with sacred speech. 
The meadows bloom with sweet desire. 

From mountains kindred spirits reach 
To clasp the glory streaming higher. 

In every path I see the trace 

Of feet that made the landscape dear; 
In every flower I feel the grace -' 
Of lives that purely blossomed here. 
* * * 

Horatio Nelson Powers. 



Ausahle, the River, N. Y. 

THE AUSABLE. 

IN the stately Indian Pass, 
Erom my fount of shadowy glass, 
I struggle along in hollow song 
On my bUnd and caverned way. 
Sharp, splintered crags ascend, 
WUd firs above me bend, 
And I leap and dash with many a flash 
To find the welcome day. 



ADSABLE, THE RIVER. 17 ' 

The lean wolf laps my flow; J 

In my pointed pools below, 1 

The grand gray eagle's tawny eye \ 

Like lightning fires the gloom. ] 

Not oft is the warbling bird \ 

In my jagged cradle heard, 1 

Tor I am the child of the savage and wild, ' 
Not pet of the sun and bloom. 

I smite, in headlong shocks. 

Roots clutching the ragged rocks, - i 

And the blocks of my sable basins 1 

And the chasms my fury ploughs. 

Where the raven, as o'er he flies, ; 

Sees the frown of his deepest dyes. 

As the murkiest pall of the forest ' 

Is flung from the dungeon-boughs. 

Old Whiteface cleaves apart 

In dizziest heights his heart j 

For the roll of my rocky waters; '. 

And I Hghten and thunder through. 

And sometimes I tame my will j 

To sing hke the wren-like rill, ] 

And I mirror the flower and boiding bower, \ 

And laugh in the open blue. ^ 

But sometimes the cataract-rain ] 

Fills my breast with frantic disdam, . - 

And my boiling deep shoots torrent-like, 
Lashing and crashing past; — 



18 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Whole forests I tear in ray wrath; 
Whole hamlets I strew on my path, 
Till my wild waves break upon the lake, 
And I slumber in peace at last. 

Alfred Billings Street. 



AUSABLE. 

THE twilight on Ausable 
By rock and river fell, 
With tints of rose- veined marble 
It glimmered through the dell. 

Shadows on tree and river 
In stately grandeur hung; 

There Nature sings forever 
What poets have not sung. 

The dark rocks, proudly hfted, 
Uprear their rugged form, 

Like giants — nobly gifted 
To breast the torrent's stonn. 



Dim mystery forever 

Here chants a song sublime. 
While onward rolls the river. 

Unchangeable as time. 

Prom soul to soul is spoken 
Wliat lips cannot impart ; 

And the silence is but broken 
By the throbbing of the heart. 



AUSABLE, THE RIVER. 19 

The evening sky in glory 

Liglits the massy, rifted wall, 

And, with many a wondrous story, 
Fancy paints the waterfall: 

Of the savage freely roving 

In a scene as wild as he ; 
Of the Indian maiden loving 

With a spirit full of glee. 



Yet — though Indian maid and lover 

Have forever passed away — 
We may dream their visions over, 

And may love as well as they ! 

On the borders of the river, 
We may whisper ere we part, 

Songs —whose music clings forever 
Round the memories of the heart. 

We may catch an inspiration 
From dark river, rock, and fall, 

And a higher adoration 
For the Spirit over all ! 

Oliver Wendell Withington. 



20 tOEMS OF PLACES. i 

Barnegat, N, J. 

THE WRECKER'S OATH ON BARNEGAT. ; 

ONE night mid swarthy forms I lay, j 

Along a wild southeastern bay, I 

Within a cabin rude and rough, I 

Tormed out of drift-wood, wrecker's stuff, i 

And firelight throwing rosy flame i 

Prom up-heaped masses of the same, — ! 

Waiting the turning of the tide , 

To launch the surf-boats scattered wide, \ 

And try the fisher's hardy toil \ 
Tor bass, and other finny spoil 

They lay around me, young and old, ] 

But men of hardy mien and mould, ' 

Whom one had picked some deed to do - 

Demanding iron hearts and true, j 
But whom one had not picked, if wise, 

For playing tricks to blinded eyes, ; 

Without expecting, at the end, i 

To learn the odds 'twixt foe and friend ! j 

Some leaned upon their arms, and slept ; ' 

But others wakeful vigil kept, "\ 

And told short stories, — merry, half, | 

And some too earnest for a laugh. J 

And I — I listened, as I might, j 
With strange and weird and wild delight. 



BARNEGAT. 21 

To hear the surfmen, iu their haunt. 
On deeds and loves and hates descant. 

One gray old man, of whom I heard 
No more than this descriptive vrord, 
" Old Kennedy," — he rattled on. 
Of men and things long past and gone, 
And seemed without one careful thought, — 
Till spark to tinder some one brought 
By hinting that he launched no more. 
Of late, his surf-boat from the shore, 
Hovrever wind and storm were rife 
And stranded vessels perilled life. 

" No ! by the God who made this tongue ! " 
And up in angry force he sprung, — 
"No! — never, while my head is warm. 
However wild beat sea and storm, 
Launch 1 a boat, one life to save. 
If half creation finds a grave ! " 

A fearful oath ! — I thought ; and so 
Thought others, for a murmur low 
Ran round the circle, till, at length. 
The wondering feeling gathered strength. 
And some, who had not known him long. 
Declared them words of cruel wrong. 
And swore to keep no friendly troth 
With one who framed so hard an oath. 

" You will not, mates ? " the old man said, 
His words so earnest, dense, and dread 



32 POEMS OF PLACES. 

That something down my back ran cold 
As at the ghostly tales of old. 
" You will not ? Listen, then, a word ! 
And if, when you have fairly heard, 
You say a thoughtless oath I swore, 
I never fish beside you more ! " 

They listened : so did I, be sure. 

As Desdemona to her Moor, 

Or that poor "wedding-guest" who heard 

The Ancient Mariner's lengtliy word. 

They listened; and no murmur broke 

The full, dead silence, as he spoke. 

. " You know me, mates, — at least the most, — ■ 
Prom Barnegat, on Jersey coast. 
'Tis time you hstened something more, 
That drove me to another shore. 

" Twelve years ago, at noon of life, 
I had a fond and faithful wife; 
Two children, boy and girl ; a patch ; 
A drift-wood cabin roofed with thatch ; 
And thought myself the happiest man 
The coast had known since time began. 

" Ships wrecked -. they never saw me flinch. 
But fight the white surf, inch by inch. 
To save the meanest thing had breath. 
If danger seemed to threaten death. 
Yes, — more ! I never once held back, 
If through the big storm, rushing black. 



BARNEGAT. 23 

Some nabob's riches I could save 
Aud give tliem to liim from the wave. 

"One night a large ship drove ashore. 
Not half a mile beyond my door. 
I saw the white surf breaking far; 
I saw her beating on the bar ; 
I knew she could not live one hour, ■ 
By wood and iron's strongest power. 

"I was alone, except my boy, — j 

Sixteen, — my wife's best hope and joy ; I 

And who can doubt, that is not mad, i 

He was the proudest pride I had! '< 

I let him take the vacant oar; I 

I took him with me from the shore; I 

I let him try help save a life : i 

I drowned him, and it killed my wife ! " i 

The old man paused, and dashed his hand - 
Against liis brow, to gain command; 

While all around, a hush like death ^ 

Hung on the fisher's trembling breath. j 

And pitying eyes began to show ' 

How rough men feel a rough man's woe. ^ 

Then he went on, — a few words more, I 

That still an added horror bore. j 

" Somebody stole a cask or bale, — 1 

At least so ran the pleasant tale. * 

And while my boy was lying dead, 
My wife's last breath as yet unfled. 



24 POEMS OF PLACES. 

The city papers reeked with chat 
Of 'pirate bands on Barnegat.' 
My name was branded as a thief. 
When I was almost mad with grief; 
And what d' ye think they made me feel, 
When the last falsehood ground its heel, — 
' I had rowed out, that night, to steal ! ' 

" No ! if I ever row again, 
To save the lives of perilled men. 
Body and soul at once go down, 
And Heaven forget me as I drown ! " 

It was a direful oath, as well 
When nothing more remained to tell. 
As it had been, when at the first 
His wrong and hate the old man nursed ; 
But I have often thought, since then. 
The best of men are only men. 
And some of us, at church and school. 
Who prattle of the Golden Rule, — 
Might find it hard, such weight to bear 
Of shame and outrage and despair, 
Without forgetting trust and troth 
And hurling out as dread an oath. 

Henri/ Morford. 



BAY KIDGE. BEAVEllKILL, THE RIVER. 25 

Bay Bidge, N, Y. 

AT BAY RIDGE, LONG ISLAND. 

PLEASANT it is to lie amid the grass 
Under these shady locusts, half the day, 
Watehiug the sliips reflected on the Bay, 
Topmast and shroud, as iu a wizard's glass : 
To see the happy-hearted martins pass, 
Brushing the dew-drops from the lilac spray: 
Or else to hang enamored o'er some lay 
Of fairy regions : or to muse, alas ! 
On Dante, exiled, journeying outworn; 
On patient Milton's sorrowfulest eyes 
Shut from the splendors of the Night ud Morn: 
To think that now, beneath the Itahan skies, 
In such clear air as this, by Tiber's wave. 
Daisies are trembling over Keats's grave. 

Tltomas Baileij Aldrich. 



Beaverkill, the Biver, N, Y. 

THE ISLAND. 

UPON a narrow river-flat 
The sunset falls in streaking glow; 
Here, the mown meadow's velvet plat, 
And there, the buckwheat's scented snow. 



26 POEMS OF PLACES. 

A cluster of low roofs is prest i 

Against the mountain's leaning breast. " 

But each rude porch is closed and barred : 1 

Eor tenderest Youth and Age alone 

Are left those humble roofs to guard, ; 

Till Day resumes his blazing throne. 

Wliere deepest shade the forest flings, 

The hunters seek that forest's game; 
Men tireless as the eagle's wings. 

Of dauntless heart and iron frame. \ 

The sparkling Beaverkill beside, j 

Benighted in their wanderings wide, I 

They merry dress the slaughtered deer, 
And make the twilight ring with cheer; 
Now chorus of the woods, now tale j 

Of panther-fight and Indian trail, 

Till the rude group, the camp-fire round, \ 

Crouch with their rifles, on the ground. j 

Where wide the branch-linked river spreads, I 

Near rapids swift, a fairy isle, I 

Three leagues above those mountain-sheds, '■ 

Looks like a sweet perpetual smile. i 

The muskrat burrows in its sides, 1 

Down its steep slopes the otter slides ; : 

The splendid sheldrake, floating, feeds j 

In his close haunts amid the reeds ; : 

Around its sandy points, all day, 1 

Watches and wades the crane for prey; * 

While show its shallows Kly-robes < 

Of heart-shaped leaves and golden globes. j 



BEAVERKILL, THE RIVER- 27 ] 

A])ove the mountain liamlct, fade 

Eve's tints, and darkness spreads its shade; * j 

Their pointed tops the cedars rear 

Against the starlight bright and clear. 

Then come the many sounds and sights 

Usual in forest summer-niglits : 

At intervals, the flitting breeze 

Draws soft, low sobbings from the trees; \ 

From the deep woods, in transient float, 

Tinkles the whetsaw's double note; 

The wakeful frog, unceasing, groans; 

Twang the mosquito's hungry tones, , 

And echoing sweetly, on the hill, 

Whistles the sorrowing whippoorwill ; 

From the cleft pine the gray owl hoots, I 

Swells from the swamp the wolf's long cry, i 

And, now and then, a meteor shoots 

A.nd melts within the spangled sky. \ 

The firefly opes and shuts its gleam, ' 

The cricket chirps, the tree-toad crows; 
And hark ! the cougar's distant scream [ 

Afar the mountain echo throws. i 

Alfred Billings Street. ^ 



28 ■ POEMS OF PLACES, 



Bethlehem, Pa, 



HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM 

AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKl's BANNER. 



w 



HEN tlie dying flame of day i 



Tlirougli the chancel slr.t its ray, 
Par the glimmering tapers shsd 
Eaint light on the cowled head ; 
And the censer burning swung, 
Where, before the altar, hung 
The crimson banner, that with prayer 
Had been consecrated there. 
And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while, 
Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle. 

"Take thy banner! May it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave; 
When the battle's distant wail 
Breaks the sabbath of our vale, 
When the clarion's music thriUs 
To the hearts of these lone hills. 
When the spear in conflict shakes. 
And the strong lance shivering breaks. 

" Take thy banner I and, beneath 
The battle-cloud's encirchng wreath. 
Guard it, till our homes are free ! 
Guard it ! God wiU prosper thee ! 
In the dark and trying hour. 
In the breaking forth of power. 



BLOOMINGDALE. 29 

In tlie rush of steeds and men, 

His right hand will shield thee then. 

"Take thy banner! But when night 
Closes round the ghastly fight. 
If the vanquished warrior bow, 
Spare him ! By our holy vow. 
By our prayers and many tears, 
By the mercy that endears, 
Spare him ! he our love hath shared ! 
Spare him ! as thou wouldst be spared ! 

" Take thy banner ! and if e'er 
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, 
And the muffled drum should beat 
To the tread of mournful feet, 
Then this crimson flag shall be 
Martial eloak and shroud for thee." 

Tlie warrior took that banner proud, 
And it was his martial cloak and shroud ! 

Henri/ Wadsworth Long fellow. 



Bloomingdale, N. Y. 

WOODMAN, SPAHE THAT TREE. 

WOODMAN, spare that tree ! 
Touch not a single bough! 
In youth it sheltered me. 
And I '11 protect it now. 



30 POEMS OF PLACES. 

'Twas my forefather's hand 

That placed it near his cot; 
There, woodman, let it stand. 

Thy axe shall harm it not ! 

That old famihar tree, 

Whose glory and renown 
Are spread o'er land and sea, 

And wouldst thou hew it down? 
Woodman, forbear thy stroke ! 

Cut not its earth-bound ties ; 
Oh, spare that aged oak. 

Now towering to the skies ! 

When but an idle boy 

I sought its grateful shade ; 
In all their gushing joy 

Here too my sisters played. 
My mother kissed me here; 

My father pressed my hand — 
!Porgive this foolish tear. 

But let that old oak stand ! 

My heart-strings round thee chng. 

Close as thy bark, old friend ! 
Here shall the wild-bird sing, 

And still thy branches bend. 
Old tree ! the storm still brave ! 

And, woodman, leave the spot; 
While I've a hand to save, 

Thy axe shall hurt it not. 

George P. Morris, 



BRANDYWINE, THE RIVER. 31 

Brandyicine, the Eiver, Pa, 

THE BRANDYWINE. 

OH ! if there is in beautiful and fair 
A potency to charm, a power to bless; 
If bright blue skies and music-breathing air. 
And Nature in her every varied dress 
Of peaceful beauty and wild loveliness, 
Can shed across the heart one sunshine ray, 
Then others, too, sweet stream, with only less 
Than mine own joy, shall gaze, and bear away 
Some cherished thought of thee for many a coming day. 

But yet not utterly obscure thy banks, 
Nor all unknown to history's page thy name; 
For there wild war hath poured his battle ranks. 
And stamped, in characters of blood and flame. 
Thine annals in the chronicles of fame. 
The wave that ripples on, so calm and still. 
Hath trembled at the war-cry's loud acclaim, 
The cannon's voice hath rolled from hill to hill. 
And midst thy echoing vales the trump hath sounded 
shrill. 

My counti-y's standard waved on yonder height. 
Her red cross banner England there displayed. 
And there the German, who, for foreign fight, 
Had left his own domestic hearth, and made , 

War, with its horrors and its blood, a trade, 



32 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Amidst the battle stood; and all the day. 
The bursting bomb, the furious cannonade. 
The bugle's martial notes, the musket's play. 
In mingled uproar wild, resounded tar awa;y. 

Thick clouds of smoke obscured the clear bright sky. 
And hung above them like a funeral pall, 
Shrouding both friend and foe, so soon to lie 
Like brethren slumbering in one father's hall : 
The work of death went on, and when the fall 
Of night came onward silently, and shed 
A dreary hush, where late was uproar all. 
How many a brother's heart in anguish bled 
O'er cherished ones, who there lay resting with the dead 

Unshrouded and uncoffined they were laid 
Within the soldier's grave — e'en where they fell : 
At noon they proudly trod the field, — the spade 
At night dug out their resting-place; and well 
And calmly did they slumber, though no bell 
Pealed over them its solemn music slow : 
The night winds sung their only dirge, — their knell 
Was but the owlet's boding cry of woe, 
The flap of night-hawk's wing, and murmuring waters' 
flow. 

But it is over now, — the plougli hath rased 

All trace of where War's wasting hand hath been: 1 

No vestige of the battle may be traced, j 

Save where the share, in passing o'er the scene, j 

Turns up some rusted ball; the maize is green ^ 

On what was once the death-bed of the brave: j 



BllANDYWINE, THE RIVER. 33 

The waters have resumed their wouted sheen, 
The wild bird sings in cadence with the wave, 
And naught remains to show the sleeping soldier's grave. 

A pebble-stone that on the war-field lay, 
And a wild rose that blossomed brightly there. 
Were all the relics that I bore away. 
To tell that I had trod the scene of war, 
When I had turned my footsteps homeward far. 
These may seem childish things to some; to me 
They shall be treasured ones, — and, like the star 
That guides the sailor o'er the pathless sea. 
They shall lead back my thoughts, loved Brandywine, 
to thee ! 

Elizabeth Margaret Chandler, 



TO THE BEANMWLNE. 

Again upon my view 
Thou com'st in quiet beauty, gentle stream 1 
Upon thy waves, the clustering foliage through, 

Ploats the soft summer beam. 

Tall trees above thee bend. 
That cast dark shadows on thy swelling breast; 
And falls the mellow light in hues that blend. 

Soft as the suuset west. 

And massy rocks arise, 
To whose gray sides the glossy smilax cleaves, 

timorous eyes 
Peep from the clustering leaves. 



34 POEMS OF PLACES. 

The pendent willows dip 
Their long boughs o'er, and in the water lave; 
And stoops the modest golden cup, to sip 

The brightly flowing wave. 

Thou wind'st through meadows green, 
Fringed with tall grass, and graceful bending fern ; 
And down through glades to join thee, many a stream 

Leaps from its mountain urn. 



In sunnier climes than ours 
Glide brighter streams, o'er sands of golden hue. 
And course their way beneath o'ershadowing flowers 

And skies of fadeless blue. 

Yet still around thy name 
A halo lingers, never to decay, 
For thou hast seen, of old, young Freedom's flame. 

Beaming with glorious ray. 

And once thy peaceful tide 
"Was filled with life-blood from bold hearts and brave ; 
And heroes on thy verdant margin died. 

The laud they loved, to save. 

These vales, so calm aud still, 
Once saw the foeman's charge, — the bayonet's gleam ; 
And heard the thunders roll from hill to hill, 

From morn till sunset's beam. 

Yet in thy glorious beauty, now. 
Unchanged thou art as when War's clarion peal 



BROOKLYN. 35 ] 

i 

Rang o'er thy waves, and on yon green hill's brow, 
Glittered the serried steel. 

And still thy name shall be 
A watchword for the brave of Freedom's clime. 
And every patriot's heart will turn to thee, , 

As in the olden time. | 

Bayard Taylor. ] 



Brooklyn, N. Y. 

GREENWOOD CEMETERY. 

HOW soft and pure the sunlight falls 
On this lone city of the dead, — 
How gilds the cold and marble walls, 
Wliere autumn's crimson leaves are shed 
The gentle uplands and the glades 
No sad, funereal aspect wear; 
But, as the summer's greenness fades. 
In their new garments seen more fair. 

Look, Mary, — what a splendid scene 
Around us in the distance lies ! 
Bright breaks the silver sea between 
This island and the western skies. 
How still with all her towers and domes 
The city sleeps on yonder shore, — 
How many thousand happy homes 
Yon starless sky is bending o'er ! 



POEMS OF PLACES. 

Happy — although this sacred spot 
The happiest may receive at last — 
How may their memories be forgot. 
Save when some casual glance is cast 
By tearless eyes upon their graves. 
And passing strangers bend to learn 
O'er whom some tree its foliage waves, 
Whose name adorns some sculptured urn. 

Oh ! mournful fate ! to die unknown 
And leave no constant heart to pine ; — 
And yet, ere many years have flown. 
Such fate, dear Mary, may be mine. 
Alone I live, and I shall die 
With no sweet hand like thine to close — 
When from my sight earth's miseries fly — 
My eyelids in their long repose. 

Park Benjamin. 

GEEENWOOD. 

SIDE by side rise the two great cities, 
Afar on the traveller's sight; 
One, black with the dust of labor, 

One, solemnly still and white. 
Apart, and yet together. 

They are reached in a dying breath. 
Bat a river flows between them, 
And the river's name is — Death. 

Apart, and yet together. 
Together, and yet apart. 



BROOKLYN. 37 

As the child may die at midnight 

On the mother's living heart. 
So close come the two great cities, 

With only the river between ; 
And the grass in the one is trampled, 

]3nt the grass in the other is green. 

The hills with uncovered foreheads, 

Like the disciples meet, 
While ever the flowing water 

Is washing their hallowed feet. 
And out on the glassy ocean, 

Tiie sails in the golden gloom 
Seem to me but moving shadows 

Of the white emmarbled tomb. 

Anon, from the hut and the palace 

Anon, from early till late. 
They come, rich and poor together. 

Asking alms at thy Beautiful Gate. 
And never had life a guerdon 

So welcome to all to give. 
In the land where the living are dying, 

As the land where the dead may live. 

silent City of Refuge 

On the way to the City o'erhead ! 
The gleam of thy marble milestones 

Tells the distance we are from the dead. 
Pull of feet, but a city untrodden, 

Full of hands, but a city unbuilt, 
Pull of strangers who know not even 

That their life-cup lies there spilt. 



S8 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Tliey know not the tomb from the palace. 

They dream not they ever have died : 

God be thanked they never will know it j 

Till they live on the other side ! ■ 

Trom the doors that death shut coldly : 

On the face of their last lone woe : J 

They came to thy glades for shelter i 

Who had nowhere else to go. I 

S. 3UlIer Hagerman. \ 



GOING TO GREENWOOD. 

MARY and I were going together 
Down to Greenwood's City of Rest ; — 
Going down, in the summer weather. 

Where slept the friends we had loved the best. 

I had a sister, loved and cherished, 
Waiting there my day of doom ; — 

Mary two babes that together perished 
Like twin roses in their bloom. 

Green, we knew, was tlie grass above them, 
Bright the flowers, like Heaven's tears. 

Scattered by hands we had taught to love them,. 
Every sunny day for years. 

Mary and I were going together. 

Some bright day, — as dear friends come 

With the cheerful smile of sunny weather, — 
To visit our dead in their quiet home. 



BROOKLYN. 39 

We would sit fair flowers wreathing 

For the marble overhead; 
Hearing the birds sing, as if breathing 

Our own love for the early dead. 

Mary and I, through all the seasons. 

Set we times for our pilgrim day; 
Hindered yet by a liundred reasons. 

Till the summer had passed away. 

Autumn is here with its voice of wailing. 
Greenwood's walks are bleak and bare ; 

Nature's beauty is sinking, failing, 
Mary has gone before me there. 

The City of Rest has a fair new-comer; 

O'er Mary's grave the sad winds moan : 
Wlien the skies are bright, next summer, 

I shall go to Greenwood alone. 

IIe)i7-i/ Mo}-ford. 



GREENWOOD CEMETERY. 

HEUE are the houses of the dead. Here youth 
And age and manhood, stricken in his strcngtli, 
Hold solemn state and awful silence keep, 
While Earth goes murmuring in her ancient path. 
And troubled Ocean tosses to and fro 
Upon his mountainous bed impatiently, 
And many stars make worship musical 
In the dim-aisled abyss, and over all 
The Lord of Life, in meditation sits 



40 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Changeless, alone, beneatli the large white dome 
Of Immortality. 

I pause and think 
Among these walks lined by the frequent tombs ; 
For it is very wonderful. Afar 
The populous city lifts its tall, bright spires, 
And snowy sails are glancing on the bay. 
As if in merriment, — but here all sleep ; 
They sleep, these calm, pale people of the past : 
Spring plants her rosy feet ou their dim homes, — 
They sleep ! Sweet Summer comes and calls, and calls 
With all her passionate poetry of flowers 
Wed to the music of the soft south-wind, — 
They sleep ! The lonely Autumn sits and sobs 
Between the cold white tombs, as if her heart 
Would break, — they sleep ! Wild Winter comes and 

chants 
Majestical the mournful sagas learned 
Far in the melancholy North, where God 
Walks forth alone upon the desolate seas, — 
They slumber still ! Sleep on, O passionless dead ! 
Ye make our world sublime : ye have a power 
And majesty the living never hold. 
Here Avarice shall forget his den of gold ! 
Here Lust his beautiful victim, and hot Hate 
His crouching foe. Ambition here shall lean 
Against Death's shaft, veiling the stern, bright eye 
That, overbold, would take the height of gods. 
And know Fame's nothingness. The sire shall come, 
The matron and the child, through many years, 
To this fair spot, whether the plumed hearse 



BROOKLYN. 41 

Moves slowly tlirough the winding walks, or Death 

Tor a brief moment pauses : all shall come 

To feel the touching eloquence of graves. 

And therefore it was well for us to clothe 

The place with beauty. No dark terror here 

Shall chill the generous tropic of the soul, 

But Poetry and her starred comrade Art 

Shall make the sacred country of the dead 

Magnificent. The fragrant flowers shall smile 

Over the low, green graves ; the trees shall shake 

Their soul-like cadences upon the tombs; 

The Httle lake, set in a paradise 

Of wood, shall be a mirror to the moon 

What time she looks from her imperial tent 

In long delight at all below ; the sea 

Shall lift some stately dirge he loves to breathe 

Over dead nations, while calm sculptures stand 

On every hill, and look like spirits there 

That drink the harmony. Oh, it is well ! 

"V\' hy should a darkness scowl on any spot 

Where man grasps immortality? Light, light, 

And art, and poetry, and eloquence. 

And all that we call glorious are its dower. 

* ♦ * 

William Wallace. 



42 POEMS OF PLACES. 

■ ! 

Callicoon, the Biver, N, Y. ' 

THE CALLICOON IN AUTUMN. 

) 

A CHARMING forest stream of Sullivan County, uniting with the Wil- i 

lewemoc and flowing into the Delaware. . i 

FAR, in the forest's heart, unknown 

Except to sun and breeze, , 

Where Solitude her dreaming throne 4 

Has held for centuries; ; 
Chronicled by the rings and moss 

That tell the flight of years across \ 

The seamed and columned trees, i 

This lovely streamlet glides along > 

With tribute of eternal sons; ! ' 



Now, stealing through its thickets deep 

In which the wood-duck hides ; 
Now, picturing in its basin sleep 
Its green, pool-hollowed sides ; 
Here, through the pebbles slow it creeps. 
There, in some wild abyss it sweeps, 

And, foaming, hoarsely chides : 
Then slides so still, its gentle swell 
Scarce ripples round the lily's bell. 

Nature, in her autumnal dress 

Magnificent and gay, 
Displays her brightest loveliness. 

Though nearest her decay ; 




Far in the forest's heart.*' See page 42. 



CALLICOON, THE EIVER. 4S 

The sky is spread in silvery sheen, 
With breaks of tcnderest blue between, 

Through which the timid ray 
Struggles in faintest, meekest glow. 
And rests in dreamy hues below. 

The southwest airs of ladened balm 

Come breathing sweetly by. 
And wake, amid the forest's calm. 

One quick and shivering sigh. 
Shaking, but dimpling not the glass 
Of this smooth streamlet, as they pass. 

They scarcely wheel on high 
The thistle's downy, silver star. 
To waft its pendent seed afar. 

Sleep-like the silence, by the lapse 

Of waters only broke, 
And the woodpecker's fitful taps 

Upon the hollow oak ; 
And, mingling with the insect hum. 
The beatings of the partridge drum. 

With now and then a croak, 
As, on his flapping wing, the crow 
O'er passes, heavily and slow. 

A foliage world of glittering dyes 

Gleams brightly on the air. 
As though a thousand sunset skies. 

With rainbows, blended there ; 
Each leaf an opal, and each tree 



44 . POEMS OF PLACES. 

A bower of varied brilliancy. 

And all one general glare 
Of splendor that o'erwlielms the sight 
With dazzling and unequalled light. 

Rich gold with gorgeous crimson, here, 

The birch and maple twine, 
The beech its orange mingles near. 

With emerald of the pine ; 
And even the humble bush and herb 
Are glowing with those tints superb. 

As though a scattered mine 
Of gems upon the earth were strown. 
Flashing with radiance, each its own. 

All steeped in that delicious charm 

Peculiar to our land, 
That comes, ere Winter's frosty arm 

Knits Nature's icy band ; 
The purple, rich, and glimmering smoke. 
That forms the Indian Summer's cloak, 

When, by soft breezes fanned, 
Tor a few precious days he broods 
Amid the gladdened fields and woods. 

The squirrel chatters merrily. 
The nut falls ripe and brown. 

And, gem-like, from the jewelled tree 
The leaf comes fluttering down ; 

And restless in liis plumage gay, 

From bush to bush loud screams the jay, 
And on the hemlock's crown 



CALLICOON, THE RIVER. 45 

The sentry pigeon guards from foe 
The flock that dots the woods below. 

See ! on tliis edge of forest kwn, 

Wliere sleeps the clouded beam, 
A doe has led her spotted fawn 

To gambol by the stream; 
Beside yon mullein's braided stalk 
Tliey hear the gurgling voices talk. 

While, like a wandering gleam, 
The yellow-bird dives here and there, 
A feathered vessel of the air. 

On, through the rampart walls of rock. 

The waters ]Htch in white. 
And high, in mist, the cedars lock 

Their boughs, half lost to sight 
Above the wliirling gulf, — tlic dash 
Of frenzied floods, that vainly lash 

Their limits in their flight. 
Whose roar the eagle, from his peak. 
Responds to with his angriest shriek. 

Stream of the wilds ! the Indian here. 

Free as thy chainless flow. 
Has bent against thy de])ths his spear. 

And in thy woods liis bow, — 
The beaver built his dome ; but they. 
The memories of an earlier day, — 

Like those dead trunks, that show 
What once were niighty pines, -^ have fled 
With Time's unceasing, rapid tread. 

Alfred BiUings Street, 



46 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Canepo, the Lake, N. Y. 

LAKE CANEPO. 

WHEN cradled on thy placid breast. 
In Imslied content I loved to muse, 
Too full the heart, too sweet the rest, 
Tor thought and speech to interfuse. 

But now, when thou art shrined afar. 
Like Nature's chosen urn of peace. 

Remembrance, like the evening star. 
Begins a vigil ne'er to cease. 

Each mossy rock, each fairy isle. 
Inlets with thickets overhung. 

The cloud's rose-tint or fleecy pile, 
And Echo's wildly frolic tongue ; 

The light and shade that o'er thee play. 
The ripple of thy moonlit wave, 

The long, calm, dreamy summer day. 
The very stones thy waters lave; 

The converse frank, the harmless jest, 

The reverie without a sigh. 
The hammock's undulating rest. 

With fair companions seated by; 

Yet linger, as if near thee still, 
I heard, upon the fitful breeze. 



CANEPO, THE LAKE. 47 

The locust and the -whippoom^ill, 
Or rustle of the swaying trees. 

Hills rise in graceful curves around. 
Here dark with tangled forest shade, 

There yellow with the harvest-ground. 
Or emerald with the open glade; 

Primeval chestnuts line the strand, 
And hemlocks every mountain side, 

While, by each passing zephyr fanned. 
Azalea flowei-s kiss the tide. 

"We nestle in the gliding barge. 
And turn from yon unclouded sky, 

To watch, along the bosky marge, 
Its image in thy watei-s nigh. 

Or, gently darting to and fro. 
The insects on their face explore, 

"With speckled minnows poised below. 
And tortoise on the pebbly floor. 

Or turn the prow to some lone bay. 

Where thick the floating leaves are spread; 
How bright and queen-like the array 
Of lilies in their crystal bed! 
* * * 

Henry Theodore Tuckerman. 



48 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Catskill Mountains, N. Y. 

CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. 

AND, lo ! the Catskills print the distant sky, 
And o'er their airy tops the faint clouds driven, 
So softly blending, that the cheated eye 
^Forgets or which is earth or which is heaven, — 
Sometimes, lilce thunder-clouds, they shade the even, 
Till, as you nearer draw, each wooded height 
Puts, off the azure hues by distance given : 
And slowly break upon the enamored sight. 
Ravine, crag, field, and wood, in colors true and bright. 

Mount to the cloud-kissed summit. Far below 
Spreads the vast champaign like a shoreless sea. 
Mark yonder narrow streamlet feebly flow, 
Like idle brook that creeps ingloriously ; 
Can that the lovely, lordly Hudson be. 
Stealing by town and mountain ? Who beholds, 
At break of day, this scene, when, silently. 
Its map of field, wood, hamlet, is unrolled. 
While, in the east, the sun uprears his locks of gold. 

Till earth receive him never can forget? 
Even when returned amid the city's roar. 
The fairy vision haunts his memory yet. 
As in the sailor's fancy shines the shore. 
Imagination cons the moment o'er. 
When first-discovered, awe-struck and amazed, 
Scarce loftier Jove — whom men and gods adore — 
On the extended earth beneath him gazed. 
Temple, and tower, and town, by human insect raised. 



CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. 49 I 

Blow, scented gale, the snowy canvas swell, 
And flow, tliou silver, eddying current, on. 
Grieve wc to bid each lovely point farewell. 
That, ere its graces half are seen, is gone. 

By woody bluff we steal, by lea'ning lawn, I 

By palace, village, cot, a sweet surprise, I 

At every turn the vision breaks upon; 

Till to our wondering and uplifted eyes 1 

The Highland rocks and hills in solemn grandeur rise. 

4c ♦ * 

Theodore S. latj. 
CATSKILL. i 

HOW reel the wildered senses at the sight! ■ 

How vast tlie boundless vision breaks in view ! '. 

Nor thought, nor word, can well depict the scene; ! 

The din of toil comes faintly swelling up \ 

From green fields far below; and all around j 
The forest sea sends up its ceaseless roar 

Like to the ocean's everlasting chime. : 

Mountains on mountains in the distance rise, i 

Like clouds along the far horizon's verge ; i 

Their misty summits mingling with the sky, \ 

Till earth and heaven seem blended into one. I 

So far removed from toil and busthuff care, — ( 
So far from earth, if heaven no nearer be, 

And gazing, as a spirit, from mid-air ' 
Upon the strife and tumult of the world. 

Let me forget the cares I leave behind, , 
And with an humble spirit, bow before - i 

The Maker of these everlasting hills. ; 

Bayard Taylor* 



&0 POEMS OF PLACES. 



CATTERSKILL FALLS. j 

MIDST greens and shades tlie Catterskill leaps, 
rrom cliffs where the wood-flower clinsrs ; 
All summer he moistens his verdant steeps 

With the sweet liglit spray of the mountain springs ; ] 

And he shakes the woods on the mountain side, ] 

When they drip with the rains of autumn-tide. [ 

But when, in the forest bare and old. 

The blast of December calls, 1 

He builds, in the starlight clear and cold, j 

A palace of ice where his torrent falls, | 
With turret, and arch, and fretwork fair. 

And pillars blue as the summer air. ] 

Por whom are those glorious chambers wrought, | 

In the cold and cloudless night? j 

Is there neither spirit nor motion of thought ' 

In forms so lovely and hues so bright? I 

Hear what the gray -haired woodmen teU 

Of this wild stream and its rocky dell. j 

'T was hither a youth of dreamy mood, j 

A hundred winters ago. 
Had wandered over the mighty wood, 

When the panther's track was fresh on the snow, 
And keen were the winds that came to stir 
The long dark boughs of the hemlock-fir. ' 

] 
Too gentle of mien he seemed and fair j 

For a child of those rugged steeps; I 



CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. 51 

His home lay low in the valley where 

The kingly Hudson rolls to tlie deeps; 
But he wore the hunter's frock that day. 
And a slender gun on his shoulder lay. 

And here he paused, and against the trunk 

Of a tall gray linden leant, 
When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk 

From his path in the frosty firmament, 
And over the round dark edge of the hill 
A cold green Hght was quivering still. 

And the crescent moon, high over the green, 

From a sky of crimson shone 
On that icy palace, whose towers were seen 

To sparkle as if with stars of their own ; 
While the water fell with a hollow sound, 
'Twixt the glistening pillars ranged around. 

Is that a being of life, that moves 
Where the crystal battlements rise ? 

A maiden watching the moon she loves. 
At the twilight hour, with pensive eyes ? 

Was that a garment which seemed to gleam 

Betwixt his eye and the falling stream? 

'T is only the torrent tumbling o'er. 

In the midst of those glassy walls, 
Gushing, and plunging, and beating the floor 

Of the rocky basin in wliich it falls. 
'Tis only the torrent — but why that start? 
Why gazes the youth with a throbbing heart? 



52 POEMS OF PLACES. 

He thiuks no more of his home afar, 

Where his sire aud sister wait. 
He heeds no longer how star after star 

Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late. 
He heeds not the snow-wreaths, lifted and cast 
From a thousand boughs by the rising blast. 

His thoughts are alone of those who dwell 

In the halls of frost aud snow, 
Who pass where the crystal domes upswell 

From the alabaster floors below, 
Where the frost-trees shoot with leaf and spray, 
And frost-gems scatter a silvery day. 

" And oh, that those glorious haunts were mine ! " 
He speaks, aud throughout the gleu 

Thin shadows swim in the faint moonshine, 
And take a ghastly likeness of men. 

As if the slain by the wintry storms 

Came forth to the air in their earthly forms. 

There pass the chasers of seal and whale. 
With their weapons quaint and grim. 

And bands of warriors in glittering mail. 
And herdsmen and hunters huge of limb ; 

There are naked arms, with bow aud spear. 

And furry gauntlets the carbine rear. 

There are mothers — and oh, how sadly their eyes 
On their children's white brows rest ! 

There are youthful lovers, — the maiden lies. 
In a seeming sleep, on the chosen breast; 



CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. 53 

There are fair wan women with moonstruck air. 
The snow-stars flecking their long loose liair. 

They eye him not as they pass along. 

But his hair stands up with dread, 
When he feels that he moves with that phantom throng, 

Till those icy turrets are over his head, 
And the torrent's roar as they enter seems 
Like a drowsy murmur heard in dreams. 

The glittering threshold is scarcely passed, 
When there gathers and wraps him round 

A thick Avhite twilight, sullen and vast, 
In which there is neither form nor sound ; 

The phantoms, the glory, vanish all, 

With the dying voice of the waterfall. 

Slow passes the darkness of that trance. 

And the youth now faintly sees 
Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance 

On a rugged ceiling of unhewn trees, 
And walls where the skins of beasts are hung. 
And rifles glitter on antlers strung. 

On a couch of shaggy skins he lies ; 

As he strives to raise his head, 
Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes, 

Come round him and smooth his furry bed, 
And bid him rest, for the evening star 
Is scarcely set and the day is far. 

They had found at eve the dreaming one 
By the base of that icy steep. 



54 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Wtien over liis stifFening limbs begun 

The deadly slumber of frost to creep, 
And they cherished the pale and breathless form, 
Till the stagnant blood ran free and warm. 

JFilliam Cullen Bryant. 



Cayuga, the Lake, N. Y, 

CAYUGA LAKE. 

SWEET, sylvan lake ! in memory's gold 
Is set the time when first my eye 
Erom thy green shore beheld thee hold 

Thy mirror to the sunset sky. 
No ripple brushed its delicate air, 
Rich silken tints alone were there; 
The far opposhig shore displayed. 
Mingling its tints, a tender shade; 
A sail, scarce seeming to the sight 
To move, spread there its pinion white. 
Like some pure spirit stealing on 
Down from its realm, by beauty won. 
Oh, who could view the scene, nor feel 
Its gentle peace within him steal. 
Nor in his inmost bosom bless 
Its rich and radiant loveliness ! 
My heart bent low its willing knee 
Before the glorious Deity ; 
Beauty led up my soul to Him, — 
Beauty, though cold and poor and dim 



CAYUGA, THE LAKE. 55 

Beside his radiance, beauty still 
That made my inmost bosom thrill; 
To loftier life my being wrought, 
And purified my every thought; 
Crept, like soft music, through my mind. 
And every feeling soft refined, 
Lifting me, that pure, lovely even. 
One precious moment up to heaven. 

Then, contrast wild, I saw the cloud. 

The next day, rear its sable crest; 
And heard, with awe, the thunder loud 

Come, crashing, o'er thy blackening breast. 
Down swooped the Eagle of the Blast; 

One mass of foam flew, tossing high ; 
While the red lightnings fierce and fast 

Shot from the wild and scowhng sky; 
And burst in mad and mighty train 
One tumbling cataract, the rain. 
I saw, within the driving mist. 

Dim, writhing, stooping shapes ; — the trees 
That the last eve so softly kissed. 

And birds so filled with melodies. 
Still rushed the mnd with keener shriek; 

The tossing waters higher rolled; 
Still fiercer flashed the lightning's streak. 

Still gloomier frowned the tempest's fold. 

Ah ! such, ah ! such is life, I sighed. 

That lovely yester eve and this. 
Now it reflects the radiant pride 

Of youth and hope and promised bliss; 



56 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Eartli's future track an Eden seems 

Far lovelier than our loveliest dreams. 

Again, the tempest rushes o'er. 

The sky's blue smile is seen no more; 

The placid deep to foam is tossed, 

All trace of peace and beauty lost. 

Despair is hovering, dark and wild. 

Ah, what can save Earth's stricken child ! 

Sweet, sylvan lake ! beside thee now 

Green hamlets point their spires to heaven 
Rich meadows wave, broad grain-fields bow. 

The axe resounds, the plough is driven, 
Down verdant slopes roam herds to drink ; 
Elocks strew, like spots of snow, thy brink ; 
The frequent farm-house greets the sight ; 
Mid falling harvests scythes are bright; 
The watch-dog's bark sounds faint from far; 
Shakes on the ear the saw-mill's jar; 
The steamer, like a gliding bird. 

Stems the rich emerald of thy wave; 
And the gay song and laugh are heard. 

But all is o'er the Indian's grave ! 
Pause, w^hite man ! check thy onward stride ! 
Cease o'er the wave thy prow to guide ! 
Until is given one sigh sincere 
Eor those who once were monarchs here; 
And prayer is made, beseeching God 
To spare us his avenging rod 
Tor all the wrongs upon the head 
Of the poor, helpless savage shed; 



CAYUGA, THE LAKE. 57 

"VVlio, strong wlieii we were weak, did not 
Trample us down upon the spot, 
But, weak when we were strong, were cast 
Like leaves upon the rushing blast. 

Sweet, sylvan lake ! one single gem 

Glitters in thy green diadem. 

No sister has this fairy isle 

To yield its beauty smile for smile; 

With it, to hear the bluebird sing, 

" Wake, leaves and flowers ! here comes the Spring ! " 

With it, to weave for Summer's tread 

Mosses below, and bowers o'erhead ; 

With it, to flash on gorgeous skies 

The opal pomp of Autumn dyes. 

And when stern Winter's tempests blow. 

To shrink beneath his robes of snow. 

Sweet, sylvan lake ! that isle of thine 
Is like one hope through grief to shine; 
Is like one tie our life to cheer; 
Is like one flower when all is sere; 
One ray amid the tempest's might ; 
One star amid the gloom of night. 

Alfred Billings Street. 



58 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Ghamplain, the Lake, N, Y. 

LAKE CHAMPLAIN. 
OT thoughtless let us enter thy domain ; 



N 



Well did the tribes of yore, 
Who sought the ocean from the distant plain, 
Call thee their country's door. 

And as the portals of a saintly pile 

The wanderer's steps delay. 
And, while he musing roams the lofty aisle. 

Care's phantoms melt away 

In the vast realm where tender memories brood 

O'er sacred haunts of time. 
That woo his spirit to a nobler mood 

And more benignant clime, — 

So in the fane of thy majestic hills 

We meekly stand elate ; 
The baffled heart a tranquil rapture fills 

Beside thy crystal gate : 

Eor here the incense of the cloistered pines. 

Stained windows of the sky, 
The frescoed clouds and mountains' purple shrines. 

Proclaim God's temple nigh. 

Through wild ravines thy wayward currents glide. 

Round bosky islands play; 
Here tufted headlands meet the lucent tide, 

There gleams the spacious bay; 



CHAMPLAIN, THE LAKE. 59 

Untracked for ages, save when crouching flew. 

Through forest-hung defiles. 
The dusky savage in his frail canoe, 

To seek the thousand isles. 

Or rally to the fragrant cedar's shade 

The settler's crafty foe. 
With toilsome march and midnight ambuscade 

To lay his dwelling low. 

Along the far horizon's opal wall 

Tlie dark blue summits rise. 
And o'er them rifts of misty sunshine fall. 

Or golden vapor lies. 

And over all tradition's gracious spell 

A fond allurement weaves; 
Her low refrain the moaning tempest swells, 

And thrills the whispering leaves. 

To win this virgin land, — a kingly quest,— 

Chivalric deeds were wrought; 
Long by thy marge and on thy placid breast 

The Gaul and Saxon fought. 

Wliat cheers of triumph in thy echoes sleep ! 

What brave blood dyed thy wave ! 
A grass-grown rampart crowns each rugged steep, 

Each isle a hero's grave. 

And gallant squadrons manned for border fray. 

That rival standards bore, 
Sprung from thy woods and on thy bosom lay,— 

Stern warders of the shore. 



60 POEMS or PLACES. 

How changed since he whose name thy waters bear, 

The silent hills between. 
Led by his swarthy guides to conflict there. 

Entranced beheld the scene ! 

Fleets swiftly ply where lagged the lone bateau, 

And quarries trench the gorge ; 
Where waned the council-fire, now steadfast glow 

The pharos and the forge. 

On Adirondack's lake-encircled crest 

Old war-paths mark the soil, 
Where idly bivouacs the summer guest. 

And peaceful miners toil. 

Where lurked the wigwam, cultured households throng ; 

Where rung the panther's yell 
Is heard the low of kine, a blithesome song. 

Or chime of village bell. 

And when, to subjugate the peopled land, 

Invaders crossed the sea, 
Rushed from thy meadow-slopes a stalwart band. 

To battle for the free. 

Nor failed the pristine valor of the race 

To guard the nation's life ; 
Thy hardy sons met treason face to face. 

The foremost in the strife. 

When locusts bloom and wild-rose scents the air, 

When moonbeams fleck the stream, 
And June's long twilights crimson shadows wear. 

Here linger, gaze, and dream ! 

Henry Theodore Tuckerman. 



CHAMPLAIN, THE LAKE. 61 



BURGOYNE'S FLEET. 



A DEEP, stern sound ! the starting signal-roar ! 
And up Cliamplain Burgoyne's great squadron bore. 
In front, his savage ally's bark canoes 
Elasliing in all their bravery wild of hues. 
Their war-songs sounding and their paddles timed ; 
Next the bateaux, their rude, square shapes sublimed 
With pennon, sword, and bayonet, casting glow 
In pencilled pictures on the plain below ; 
Last, the grand ships, by queenly Mary led, 
Where shines Burgoyne in pomp of gold and red ; 
And then, in Hue, St. George, Inflexible, 
And radeau Thunderer, dancing on the swell 
The glad wind made : how stately shone the scene ! 
June in the forests each side smiling green ! 
The graceful chestnut's dark green dome was fraught 
With golden tassels ; ivory, seeming brought 
Erom winter lingering in the Indian Pass, 
Mantled the locust; as in April grass 
Rich dandelions bum, the basswood showed 
Its bells of yellow; while the dogwood glowed 
In a white helmet thickly plumed atop ; 
The earlier cherry let its' sweet pearls drop 
With every breeze; the hemlock smiled Mitli edge 
Eringed in fresh emerald ; even the sword-likc sedge. 
Sharp mid the snowy lily-goblets set 
In the nooked shallows like a spangled net. 
Was jewelled with brown bloom. By curvmg point 
Where gUttcring ripples umber sands anoint 



62 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Witli foamy silver, by deep crescent bays 
Sleeping beneath their veil of drowsy haze, 
By watery coverts shimmering faint in film. 
Broad, rounded knolls one creamy, rosy realm 
Of laurel blossom w^ith the kalmia-urns 
Dotted with red, the fleet, as sentient, turns 
The winding channel ; in tall towers of white 
The stately ships reflect the golden light 
Dazzling the lake ; the huge bateaux ply deep 
Their laboring, dashing pathway; fronting, keep. 
With measured paddle-stabs, the light canoes 
Their gliding course; the doe, upstarting, views 
And hides her fawn ; the panther marks the scene 
And bears her cubs within the thicket's screen ; 
The wolf lifts sharpened ear and forward foot; 
Waddles the bear away with startled hoot 
As some sail sends a sudden flash of white 
In the cove's greenery; slow essaying flight. 
The loon rears, flapping, its checked, grazing wings. 
Till up it struggling flies and do^aiward flings 
Its Indian whoop ; the bluebird's sapphire hue 
Kindles the shade ; the pigeon's softer blue 
Breaks, swarming, out; the robin's warble swells 
In crumply cadence from the skirting dells; 
And restless rings the bobolink's bubbly note 
From the clear bell that tinkles in his throat. 
Thus stately, cheerily, moves the thronging fleet! 
On the lake's steel the blazing sunbeams beat; 
But now a blast C3mcs blustering from a gorge ; 
The white caps dance; it bends the tall St. George, 
And even the Thunderer tosses ; the array 



CHAMPLAIN, THE LAKE. 63 

Breaks up ; canoe, bateau, grope doubtful way 

Through the dim air; in spectral white, each sail 

Glances and shivers in the whistling gale; 

All the green paintings of point, bank, and tree 

Vanish in black and white, and all but see 

A close horizon where near islands lose 

Their shapes, and distant ranks of forest fuse 

Into a mass ; at length the blast flies off. 

Shallows stop rattling, and the hollow cough 

Of surges into caves makes gradual cease. 

Till on the squadron glides once more in sunny peace. 

So on some blue-gold day white clouds up float 

In shining throng, and next are dashed remote 

By a fierce wind, then join in peace again. 

And smoothly winnow o'er the heavenly plain; 

Or so some fleet of wild fowl on the lake, 

Dipping and preening, quiet journey take. 

Till the sky drops an eagle circling low 

For the straight plunge ; wild scattering to and fro. 

They seek the shed of bank, the cave of plants. 

Tunnel of stream, wherever lurk their haunts, 

Until the baffled eagle seeks again 

His sky, and safety holds, once more, its reign. 



On Lady Mary's deck Burgoyne would stand 
Drinking the sights and sounds at either hand, 
Replete with beauty to his poet -heart, 
Laughing to scorn man's paltry works of Art : 
The grassy vista with its grazing deer; 



64 POEMS or PLACES. 

The lone loon oaring on its sliy career; 

The withered pine-tree with its fish-hawk nest ; 

The eagle-eyrie on some craggy crest ; 

The rich white lilies that wide shallows told ; 

Their yellow sisters with their globes of gold 

At the stream's mouth; the ever-changeful lake; 

Here a green gleaming, there a shadowy rake 

Of scudding air-breath; here a dazzling flash 

Searing the eyeball, there a sudden dash 

Of purple from some cloud ; a streak of white 

The wake of some scared duck avoiding sight. 

The dogwood, plumed with many a pearly gem. 

Was a bright queen with her rich diadem; 

An oak with some crooked branch up pointing grand, 

A monarch with his sceptre in his hand; 

A rounded root a prostrate pine-tree rears 

A slumbering giant's mighty shield appears; 

A long-drawn streak of cloud with pendent swell 

Of hill, a beam with its suspended bell. 

In some gray ledge, high lifted up, he sees 

An ancient castle looking from its trees ; 

Some mountain's rugged outline shows the trace 

Of the odd profile of the human face ; 

A slender point tipped with its drinking deer 

Seems to his soldier eye a prostrate spear; 

In the near partridge-pinion's roUing hum. 

He hears, with smiles, the beating of the dram; 

And in the threslier's tones, with music rife, 

The stirring flourish of the whistling fife ; 

And thus his fancy roams, till twilight draws 

Around the fading scene its silver gauze. 



CHAMPLAIX, THE LAKE. 65 

A golden, lazy summer afternoon ! 

The air is fragrant with the scents of June, — 

Wintergreen, sassafras, and juniper. 

Rich birch-breath, pungent mint and spicy fir 

And resinous cedar; on Carillon's walls 

The sentry paces where cool shadow falls; 

His comrade sits, his musket on his knee. 

Watching the speckling gnats convulsively 

Stitching the clear dark air that films some nook. 

He hears the dashing of the Horicon brook 

Loud at the west, — that curved and slender chain 

By which the Tassel hangs upon Champlain, — 

It chimes within his ear like silver bells. 

And the sweet jangling only quiet tells; 

In front he sees the long and leafy points 

Curving the waters into elbow-joints 

Of bays ; a crest beyond the old French lines. 

Domes the flat woods; east, opposite, inclines 

Mount Independence, its sloped summit crowned 

With its star-fort, with battery breastplate bound, 

The floating bridge between, the massive boom 

And chain in front, and in the rearward room 

A group of patriot craft ; and sweeping thence 

The forest landscape's green magnificence. 

Southward the lake a narrowed river bends 

With one proud summit where the brook suspends 

Horieon's tassel to King Corker's crown, 

Close to Carillon's dark embattled frown. 

Alfred Billings Street. 



66 POEMS OF PLACES. 



Delaware, the River. 

THE FRESHET. 

A LEGEND OF THE DELAWARE. 

"ARCH liatli unlocked stern winter's cliain 
Nature is wrapped in misty shrouds, 
And ceaselessly tlie drenching rain 

Drips from the gray, sky-mantliog clouds ; 
The deep sno^ns melt, and swelling rills 
Pour through each hollow of the hills ; 
The river from its rest hath risen, 
And bounded from its shattered prison ; 
The huge ice-fragments onward dash. 
With grinding roar and splintering crash ; 
Swift leap the floods upon their way. 

Like war-steeds thundering on their path. 
With hoofs of waves and manes of spray, 

Restrainless in their mighty wrath. 

Wild mountains stretch in towering pride 

Along the river's either side ; 

Leaving between it and their walls 

Narrow and level intervals. 

When summer glows, how sweet and bright 

The landscape smiles upon the sight ! 

Here, the bright golden wheat-fields vie 

With the rich tawny of the rye ; 

The buckwheat's snowy mantles, there. 

Shed honeyed fragrance on the aii'; 



DELAWARE, THE RIVER. 6? 

In long straight ranks tlie corn uprears 
Its silken plumes and pennoned spears ; 
The yellow melon underneath 
Plump ripens, in its viny wreath ; 
Here, the piled rows of new-mown grass ; 
There, the potato-plant's green mass ; 
All framed by woods, — each Hmit shown 
By zigzag rail, or wall of stone ; 
Contrasting, here, within the shade. 
The axe a space hath open laid. 
Cumbered with trees hurled blended down, 
Their verdure changed to withered brown ; 
There, the soil, ashes-strewed and black. 
Shows the red flame's devournig track ; 
Slim fire-weeds shooting thick where stood 
The leafy monarchs of the wood : 
A landscape frequent in the land. 

Which Freedom, with her gifts to bless. 
Grasping the axe when sheathing brand. 

Hewed from the boundless wilderness. 

The rains have ceased : the struggling glare 

Of sunset lights the misty air ; 

The fierce winds sweep the myriad throng 

Of broken ragged clouds along; 

From the rough saw-mill, where hath rung. 

Through all the hours, its grating tongue, 

The raftman sallies, as the gray 

Of evening tells the flight of day. 

And slowly seeks, with loitering stride. 

His cabin by the river side. 



6S POEMS or PLACES. 

As twilight darkens into night, 
Still dash the waters in their flight, 
Still the ice-fragments, thick and fast. 
Shoot like the clouds before the blast. 

Beyond, — the sinuous channel wends 
Through a deep, narrow gorge, and bends 
With curve so sharp, the drifting ice, 

Hurled by the flood's tremendous might. 
Piles the opposing precipice. 

And every fragment swells the height ; 
Hour after hour uprears the wall. 
Until a barrier huge and tall 
Breasts the wild waves that vain upswell 
To overwhelm the obstacle : 
They bathe the alder on the verge, 
The leaning hemlock now they merge. 
The stately elm is dwindling low 
Within the deep ingulfing flow. 
Till, curbed thus in its headlong flight. 
With its accumulated might, 
The river, turning on its track, 
Kolls its broad-spreading volumes back. 

The raftman slumbers ; through his dream 
Distorted visions wildly stream ; 
Now in the wood his axe he swings. 
And now his saw-mill's jarring rings ; 
Now his huge raft is shooting swift 
Cochecton's wild, tumultuous rift. 
Now floats it on the ebon lap 
Of the grim shadowed Water Gap, 



DELAWARE, THE IlIVER. 69 

And now 't is tossing on the swells 
Fierce dashing down the slope of Wells. 
The rapids crash upon his ear, 
The deep sounds roll more loud and near, 
They fill his dream, — he starts, — he wakes! 

The moonlight through the casement falls. 
Ha! the wild sight that on him breaks, — 

The floods sweep round his cabin-walls. 
Beneath their bounding, thundering shocks 
The frail log fabric groans and rocks ; 
Crash, crash ! the ice-bolts round it shiver ; 
The walls like blast-swept branches quiver ; 
His wife is clinging to his breast, 
The child within his arm is prest; 
He staggers through the chilly flood 
That numbs his limbs, and checks his blood. 
On, on he strives : the waters lave 
Higher his form with every wave ; 
They steep his breast, on each side dash 
The sphntered ice with thundering crash ; 
A fragment strikes him ; ha ! he reels ; 
That shock in every nerve he feels ; 
Taster, bold raftman, speed thy way. 
The waves roar round thee for their prey; 
The cabin totters, — sinks, — the flood 
Rolls its mad surges where it stood : 
Before thy straining sight, the hill 
Sleeps in the moonlight, briglit and still. 
Falter not, falter not, struggle on, 
That goal of safety may be won; 
Heavily droops thy wife with fear. 



70 POEMS OF PLACES'. 

Thy boy's slirill shriekings fill thine ear ; 
Urge, urge thy strength to where outfling 
You cedar-branches for thy cling. 
Joy, raftman, joy ! thy need is past. 
The wished-for goal is won at last. 
Joy, raftman, joy ! thy quick foot now 
Is resting on the upland's brow. 
Praise to high Heaven ! each knee is bent. 
And every heart in prayer of grateful love is blent. 

Alfred Billings Street. 



THE DELAWARE WATER-GAP. 

OUR, western land can boast no lovelier spot. 
The hills which in their- ancient grandeur stand 
Piled to the frowning clouds, the bulwarks seem 
Of this wild scene, resolved that none but Heaven 
Shall look upon its beauty. Round their breast 
A curtained fringe depends, of golden mist, 
Touched by the slanting sunbeams ; while below 
The silent river, with majestic sweep. 
Pursues his shadowed way, — his glassy face 
Unbroken, save when stoops the lone wild swan 
To float in pride, or dip his ruffled wing. 
Talk ye of solitude ? It is not here. 
Nor silence. Low, deep murmurs are abroad. 
Those towering hills hold converse with the sky 
That smiles upon their summits; and the wind 
Which stirs their wooded sides whispers of life. 
And bears the burden sweet from leaf to leaf, 
Bidding the stately forest-boughs look bright, 



ELIZABETH. 71 

And uod to greet liis coming ! And tlie brook. 

That with its silvery gleam comes leaping down 

From the hillside, has, too, a tale to tell ; 

The wild bird's music mingles with its chime ; 

And gay young flowers, that blossom in its path. 

Send forth their perfume as an added gift. 

The river utters, too, a solemn voice, 

And tells of deeds long past, in ages gone, 

When not a sound was heard along his shores. 

Save the wild tread of savage feet, or sluiek 

Of some expiring captive, and no bark 

E'er cleft his gloomy waters. Now, his waves 

Are vocal often with the hunter's song ; 

Now visit, in their glad and onward course, 

The abodes of happy men, — gardens and fields. 

And cultured ])lains, — still bearing, as they pass, 

PertiUty renewed and fresh delights. 
* * * 

Elizaheih F. EUeit. 



Elizabeth, N. /. 

FUIT ILIUM. 
Washington's headquakters. 

ONE by one they died, — 
Last of all their race; 
Nothing left but pride, 

Lace, and buckled hose. 
Their quietus made, 
On their dwelling-place 



72 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Ruthless hands are laid : 

DoAvii the old house goes! 

See the ancient manse 

Meet its fate at last ! 
Time, in his advance. 

Age nor lionor knows; 
Axe and broadaxe fall, 

Lopping off the Past : 
Hit with bar and maul, 

Down the old house goes ! 

Sevenscore years it stood: 

Yes, they built it well. 

Though they built of wood, 

Wlien that house arose. 

Eor its cross-beams square 

Oak and walnut fell ; 
Little worse for wear, 

Down the old house goes ! 

Rending board and plank. 
Men with crowbars ply. 
Opening fissures dank. 

Striking deadly blows. 
Prom the gabled roof 

How the shingles fly! 
Keep you here aloof, — 

Down the old house goes ! 

Holding still its place, 
There the chimney stands, 



ELIZABETH. 73 

Stanch from top to bcase, 

rrowning on its foes. 
Heave apart the stones, 
Burst its iron bands ! 
How it shakes and groans ! 

Down the old house goes ! 

Konnd the mantel-piece 

Glisten Scripture tiles; 
Henceforth they shall cease 
Painting Egypt's woes, 
Painting David's fight, 

Fair Bathsheba's smiles, 
Blinded Samson's might, — 
Down the old house goes ! 

On these oaken floors 

High-shoed ladies trod ; 
Through those panelled doors 

Trailed their furbelows : 
Long their day has ceased; 

Now, beneath the sod. 
With the worms they feast, — 
Down the old house goes ! 

Many a bride lias stood 

In yon spacious room; 
Here her hand was wooed 
Underneath the rose"; 
O'er that sill the dead 

Reached the family tomb : 



74 POEMS OF PLACES. 

All, that were, have fled, — 
DoTHi the old house goes ! 

Once, in yonder hall, 

Washington, they say. 
Led the New- Year's ball. 

Stateliest of beaux! 
O that minuet, 

Maids and matrons gay ! 
Are there such sights yet ? 

Dow^n the old house goes ! 

British troopers came 

Ere another year, 
With their coats aflame, 

Mincing on their toes; 
Daughters of the house 

Gave them haughty cheer, 
Laughed to scorn their vows, — 
Down the old house goes ! 

Doorway high the box 

Li the grass-plot spreads ; 
It has borne its locks 

Through a thousand snows ; 
In an evil day, 

Erom those garden-beds 
Now 't is hacked away, — 

Down the old house goes! 



Lo ! the sycamores. 

Scathed and scrawny mates. 




These lovely shores."' See I'ago To. 



ERIE, THE LAKE. 75 

At the mansion doors 

Shiver, full of "woes ; 
With its life tliey grew, 

Guarded well its gates; 
Now their task is through, — 

Down the old house goes ! 

On this honored site 

Modern trade will build, — 
What unseemly fright 

Heaven only knows ! 
Something peaked and high. 

Smacking of the guild : 
Let us heave a sigh, — 

Down the old house goes ! 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



Erie, the Lake, K Y. 

LAKE ERIE. 

THESE lovely shores ! how lone and still, 
A hundred years ago. 
The unbroken forest stood above. 

The waters dashed below, — 
The waters of a lonely sea. 

Where never sail was furled. 
Embosomed in a wilderness, 
Which was itself a world. 



76 POEMS OF PLACES. 

A hundred years ! go back, and lo ! 

Where, closmg in the view. 
Juts out the shore, with rapid oar 

Darts round a frail canoe, — 
*Tis a white voyager, and see, 

His prow is westward set 
O'er the cahn wave : Hail to thy bold. 

World-seeking barque, Marquette ! 

The lonely bird, that picks his food 

Wliere rise the waves and sink. 
At their strange coming, with shrill scream. 

Starts from the sandy brink ; 
The fishhawk, hanging in mid sky. 

Floats o'er on level wing. 
And the savage from his covert looks. 

With arrow on the string. 

A hundred years are past and gone, 

And all the rocky coast 
Is turreted with shining towns, 

An empire's noble boast; 
And the old wilderness is changed 

To cultured vale and hill ; 

And the circuit of its mountains 

An empire's numbers fill ! 

El^hraim Peahody. 



ERIE, THE LAKE. 77 



PERRY'S VICTORY ON LAKE ERIE. 

BRIGHT was the morn, — the waveless bay 
Shone like a mirror to the sun ; 
Mid greenwood shades and meadows gay. 
The matin birds their lays begun: 
While swelling o'er the gloomy wood 
Was heard the fahitly echoed roar, — 
The dashing of tlie foamy flood, 
That beat on Erie's distant shore. 

The tawny wanderer of the wild 
Paddled liis painted birch canoe. 
And, where the wave serenely smiled, 
Swift as the darting falcon, flew; 
He rowed along that peaceful bay. 
And glanced its polished surface o'er, 
Listening the billow far away. 
That rolled on Erie's lonely shore. 

What sounds awake my slumbering ear? 

What echoes o'er the waters come? 

It is the morning gun I hear. 

The rolling of the distant drum. 

Ear o'er the bright illumined wave 

I mark the flash, — I hear tiie roar, 

That calls from sleep the slumbering brave. 

To fight on Erie's lonely shore. 

See how the starry banner floats. 
And sparkles in the morning ray: 



78 POEMS or PLACES. 

While sweetly swell the fife's gay notes 
In echoes o'er the gleaming bay: 
riash follows flash, as through yon fleet 
Columbia's cannons loudly roar, 
And valiant tars the battle greet. 
That storms on Erie's echoing shore. 

O, who can tell what deeds were done, 
When Britain's cross, on yonder wave. 
Sunk 'neath Columbia's dazzling sun, 
And met in Erie's flood its grave ? 
Who tell the triumphs of that day. 
When, smiling at the cannon's roar. 
Our hero, mid the bloody fray. 
Conquered on Erie's echoing shore ? 

Though many a wounded bosom bleeds 
Eor sire, for son, for lover dear. 
Yet Sorrow smiles amid her weeds, — 
Affliction dries her tender tear ; 
Oh ! she exclaims, with glowing pride, 
With ardent thoughts that wildly soar, 
My sire, my son, my lover died. 

Conquering on Erie's bloody shore ! 
♦ * * 

James Gates Percival. 



FIRE ISLAND. 79 



Fire Island, N. Y. 

ON THE DEATH OF M. D'OSSOLI AND HIS WIFE 
MARGARET FULLER. 

OYER his millions Death has lawful power, 
But over thee, brave D'Ossoli ! none, none. 
After a longer struggle, in a fight 
Worthy of Italy to youth restored, 
Thou, far from home, art sunk beneath the surge 
Of the Atlantic ; on its shore ; in reach 
Of help ; in trust of refuge ; sunk with aU 
Precious on earth to thee, — a child, a wife ! 
Proud as thou wert of her, America 
Is prouder, showing to her sons how high 
Swells woman's courage in a virtuous breast. 
She would not leave behind her those she loved: 
Such solitary safety might become 
Others ; not her ; not her who stood beside 
The pallet of the wounded, when the worst 
Of Erance and Perfidy assailed the walls 
Of unsuspicious Rome. Rest, glorious soul, 
Renowned for strength of genius, Margaret ! 
Rest with the twain too dear! My words are few, 
And shortly none will hear my failing voice. 
But the same language with more full appeal 
Shall hail thee. Many are the sons of song 
Wliom thou hast heard upon thy native plains 
Worthy to sing of thee : the hour is come ; 
Take we our seats and let the dirge begin. 

Walter Savage Landor. 



80 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Genesee, the Eiver, N. Y, 

MY OWN DARK GENESEE. 

THEY told me southern land could boast 
Charms richer than mine own : 
Sun, moon, and stars of brighter glow. 

And winds of gentler tone ; 
And parting from each olden haunt, 

Pamiliar rock and tree, 
Trom that sweet vale I wandered far — 
Washed by the Genesee. 

I pined beneath a foreign sky. 

Though birds, like harps in tune, 
Lulled Winter on a couch of flowers 

Clad in the garb of June. 
In vain on reefs of coral broke 

The glad waves of the sea; 
For, like thy voice they sounded not. 

My own dark Genesee ! 

Wlien Christmas came, though round me grew 

The lemon-tree and lime, 
And the warm sky above me threw 

The blue of summer-time ; 
I thought of my loved northern home. 

And wished for wings to flee 
Where frost-bound, between frozen banks, 

Lay hushed the Genesee. 



GEORGE (iIORICON), THE LAKE. 81 

For the gray, mossed paternal roof 

My throbbing bosom yearned, 
And ere the flight of many moons 

My steps I homeward turned ; 
My heart, to joy a stranger long, 

Was tuned to rapture's key, 
When ear the murmur heard once more 

Of my own Genesee. 

Ambition from the scenes of youth 

May others lure away 
To chase the phantom of renown 

Throughout their little day; 
I would not, for a palace proud 

And slave of pliant knee, 
Forsake a cabin in thy vale. 

My own dark Genesee. 

William Henri/ Cuyler Hosmer. 



George [Horicon), the Lake, N. Y. 

LAKE GEORGE. 

HOW oft in visions of the night, 
How oft in noonday dreaming, 
I 've seen, fair lake, thy forest wave, — 
Have seen thy waters gleaming; 
Have heard the blowing of the winds 
Tliat sweep along thy highlands. 



82 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And the light laughter of the waves 
That dance around thine islands. 

It was a landscape of the mind. 

With forms and hues ideal, 

But still those hues and forms appeared 

More lovely than aught real. 

I feared to see the breathing scene, 

And brooded o'er the vision, 

Lest the hard touch of truth should mar 

A picture so Elysian. 

But now I break the cold distrust 
Whose spells so long had bound me; 
The shadows of the night are past, — 
The morning shines around me. 
And in the sober light of day, 
I see, with eyes enchanted, 
The glorious vision that so long 
My day and night dreams haunted. 

I see the green, translucent wave. 
The purest of earth's fountains ; 
I see the many -winding shore, — 
The double range of mountains : 
One, neighbor to the flying clouds. 
And crowned with leaf and blossom, 
And one, more lovely, borne within 
The lake's unruffled bosom. 

timid heart! with thy glad throbs 
Some self-reproach is blended, 



GEORGE (UORICON), THE LAKE. 83 

At the long years that died before 
The sight of scene so splendid. 
The mind has pictures of its own, 
Fair trees and waters flowing — 
But not a magic whole like this, 
So living, breathing, glowing; 

Strength imaged in the wooded hills, 

A grand, primeval nature, 

And beauty mirrored in the lake, 

A gentler, softer feature ; 

A perfect union, — where no want 

Upon the soul is pressing; 

Like manly power and female grace 

Made one by bridal blessing. 

Nor is the stately scene without 

Its sweet, secluded treasures, 

Where hearts that shun the crowd may find 

Their own exclusive pleasures ; 

Deep chasms of shade for pensive thought,. 

The hours to wear away in; 

And vaulted aisles of whispering pine, 

For lovers' feet to stray in ; 

Clear streams that from the uplands run, 

A course of sunless shadow ; 

Isles all unfurrowed by the plough. 

And strips of fertile meadow; 

And rounded coves of silver sand. 

Where moonlight plays and glances, — 



84 POEMS OF PLACES. 

A sheltered hall for elfin horns, 
A floor for elfin dances. 

No tame monotony is here. 

But beauty ever changing; 

With clouds, and shadows of the clouds, 

And mists the hillsides ranging. 

Where morning's gold, and noon's hot sun, 

Their changing glories render; 

Pour round the shores a varying light, 

^ow glowing and now tender. 

But purer than the shiftmg gleams 
By liberal sunshine given. 
Is the deep spirit of that hour, — 
An effluence breathed from Heaven; 
When the unclouded, yellow moon 
Hangs o'er the eastern ridges. 
And the long shaft of trembling gold. 
The trembling crystal bridges. 

Farewell, sweet lake ! brief were the hours 

Along thy banks for straying; 

But not farewell what memory takes, — 

An image undecaying. 

I hold secure beyond all change 

One lovely recollection, 

To cheer the hours of lonely toil. 

And chase away dejection. 

George Stlllman Hillard. 



GEORGE (hORICON), THE LAKE. 85 



HORICON. 

IN tlie midst of the mountains all bosky and wooded, 
Its bosom thick gemmed with the loveliest isles, 
Its borders with vistas of Paradise studded, — 

Looking up to the heaven sweet Horicon smiles. 
Thick set are its haunts with old legend and story, 

That, woven by genius, still cluster and blend; 
But its beauty will cling, like a halo of glory, 
When legend and record with ages shall end. 
* * * 

Far down in the waters the pebbles are gleaming, — 
Far down in the clear waves that nothing can hide ; 
So, beauty of youth, comes the name you are dream- 
ing, — 
Too pure for concealment, too gentle for pride ; 
So smiles on your faces the sunshine of heaven, — 

The blessing distilled in the gardens of air, — 
A smile of contentment from Paradise given 

That woman and lake have been fashioned so fair. 

Pure Horicon ! glassing the brows of the mountains, 

As handmaid might bend to a conqueror's will ! — ■ 
Although nurtured and swelled by the commonest foun- 
tains. 

Yet pure, and transparent, and beautiful still ! 
No wonder the men of the cross and the missal 

Once named it " The Lake of the Sacrament " pure ; 
Or that far leagues away, from some holiest vessel. 

Its drops on the forehead could comfort and cure. 



86 POEMS OF PLACES. 

On the fair silver lake drives tlie Indian no longer, 

With the sweep of his paddle, the birchen canoe; 
And the fortresses fall that made weakness the stronger. 

And saved the white maid when the war-whistle blew. 
But 't is well that the old and the savage are fated, 

And that danger rolls back from the Edens of earth. 
Our boats glide as well, with all loveliness freighted, 

And the war-whoop we lose in the sallies of mirth. 

Pure Horicon ! lake of the cloud and the shadow ! 

Soft shimmer your moonlight and dimple your rain ! 
And the hearts far away — if by sea side or meadow — 

Still think of your blue with a lingering pain! 
Among the far islands that glitter in heaven, — 

On the dim, undiscovered, and beautiful shore, — 
Some glimpse of a lovelier sea may be given 

To the eyes of the perfect, — but never before ! 

Henry Morford. 

LAKE GEORGE. 

A SUMMER shower had swept the woods; 
But when, from all the scene. 
Rolled off at length the thunder-floods, 

And streamed the sunset sheen, 
I came where my postilion raised 

His horsewhip for a wand. 
And said, " There 's Horicon, good sir. 
And here 's the Bloody Pond ! 

"And don't you see yon low gray wall, 
With grass and bushes grown ? 



GEORGE (HORICON), THE LAKE. 87 

Well, that's Eort George's palisade. 
That many a storm has known: 

But here 's the Bloody Pond where lies 
TuU many a soldier tall; 

The spring, they say, was never pure 
Since that red burial." 

'T was rare to see ! That vale beneath ; 

That lake so calm and cool ! 
But mournful was each lily-wreath. 

Upon the turbid pool : 
And — "On, postilion, let us haste 

To greener banks,^' I cried, 
"0, stay me not Avhere man has stained 

With brother's blood the tide ! " 

An hour, —and though the Even-star 

Was chasing doAvn the sun. 
My boat was on thine azure wave. 

Sweet, holy Horicon ! 
And woman's voice cheered on our bark, . 

With soft bewildering song, 
While fireflies, darting through the dark, 

Went lighting us along. 

Anon, that bark was on the beach. 

And soon I stood alone 
Upon thy mouldering walls. Fort George, 

So old and ivy-grown. 
At once, old tales of massacre 

Were crowding on my soul. 



POEMS OF PLACES. 

And ghosts of ancient sentinels 
Paced up the rocky knoU. 

The shadowy hour was dark enow 

Eor fancy's wild campaign, 
And moments were impassioned hours 

Of battle and of pain : 
Each brake and thistle seemed alive 

With fearful shapes of fight. 
And up the feathered scalp-locks rose 

Of many a tawny sprite. 

The Mohawk war-whoop howled agen; 

I heard St. Denys' charge, 
And then the volleyed musketry 

Of England and St. George. 
The vale, the rocks, the cradling hills, 

Erom echoing rank to rank. 
Rung back the warlike rhetoric 

Of Huron and of Erank. 

" So, keep thy name, Lake George," said I, 

*'And bear to latest day. 
The memory of our primal age, 

And England's early sway; 
And when Columbia's flag shall here 

Her starry glories toss, 
Be witness how our fathers fought 

Beneath St. George's cross." 



Arthur Cleveland Coxe. ] 

I 



GETTYSBURG. 89 



Gettysburg, Pa. 

THE HIVE AT GETTYSBURG. 

IN the old Hebrew myth the lion's frame, 
So terrible alive, 
Bleached by the desert's sun and wind, became 

The wandering wild bees' hive ; 
And he who, lone and naked-handed, tore 

Those jaws of death apart. 
In after time drew forth their honeyed store 
To strengthen his strong heart. 

Dead seemed the legend: but it only slept 

To wake beneath our sky ; 
Just on the spot whence ravening Treason crept 

Back to its lair to die. 
Bleeding and torn from freedom's mountain bounds, 

A stained and shattered drum 
Is now the hive where, on their flowery rounds. 

The wild bees go and come. 

Unchallenged by a ghostly sentinel. 

They wander wide and far, 
Along green hillsides, sown with shot and shell. 

Through vales once choked with war. 
The low reveille of their battle-drum 

Disturbs no morning prayer ; 
With deeper peace in summer noons their hum 

Fills all the drowsy air. 



90 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And Samson's riddle is our own to-day, 

Of sweetness from the strong. 
Of union, peace, and freedom plucked away 

Prom tlie rent jaws of wrong. 
Erom Treason's death we draw a purer life, 

As, from the beast he slew, 
A sweetness sweeter for his bitter strife 

The old-time athlete drew ! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



LINCOLN AT GETTYSBURG. 

AETER the eyes that looked, the lips that spake 
Here, from the shadows of impending death. 
Those words of solemn breath. 
What voice may fitly break 
The silence, doubly hallowed, left by him? 
"We can but bow the head, with eyes grown dim, 

And, as a Nation's litany, repeat 
The phrase his martyrdom hath made complete. 
Noble as then, but now more sadly sweet : 
"Let us, the li\ang, rather dedicate 
Ourselves to the unfinished work, which they 
Thus far advanced so nobly on its way. 

And save the perilled state ! 
Let us, upon this field where they, the brave. 
Their last full measure of devotion gave. 
Highly resolve they have not died in vain ! — 
That, under. God, the Nation's later birth 
Of Ereedom, and the people's gain 



GETTYSBURG. 91 

Of their own Sovereignty, shall never wane 
And perish from the circle of the ecarth ! " 
From such a perfect text, shall Song aspire 

To liglit her faded fire. 
And into wandering music turn 
Its virtue, simple, sorrowful, and stem? 
His voice all elegies anticipated ; 

For, whatsoe'er the strain, 

We hear that one refrain: 
We consecrate ourselves to them, tlie Consecrated ! " 

After the thunder-storm our heaven is blue : 
Far off, along the borders of the sky, 
In silver folds the clouds of battle lie. 

With soft, consoling sunlight shining through; 

And round the sweeping circle of your hills 
The crashing cannon-thrills 

Have faded from the memory of the air ; 

And Summer pours from unexhausted fountains 
Her bliss on yonder mountains : 

The camps are tenantless, the breastworks bare: 

Earth keeps no stain where hero-blood was poured: 
The hornets, humming on their wings of lead. 
Have ceased to sting, their angry swarms are dead. 

And, harmless in its scabbard, rusts the sword ! 

Oh, not till now, — Oh, now we dare, at last. 
To give our heroes fitting consecration ! 

Not till the soreness of the strife is past. 

And Peace hath comforted the weary Nation ! 

So long her sad, indignant spirit held 

One keen regret, one throb of pain, unquelled; 



92 POEMS OF PLACES. 

So long the laud about lier feet was waste. 
The ashes of the burmng lay upon her. 

We stood beside their graves with brows abased. 
Waiting the purer mood to do them honor ! 

* * * 

And yet, ye Dead ! — and yet 
Our clouded natures cling to one regret : 
We are not all resigned 
To yield, with even mind. 
Our scarcely risen stars, that here untimely set. 
We needs must think of History that waits 

For lines that live but in their proud beginning, — 
Arrested promises and cheated fates, — 

Youth's boundless venture and its single winning ! 
We see the ghosts of deeds they might have done, 

The phantom homes that beaconed tlieir endeavor ] 
The seeds of countless lives, in them begun, 

That might have multiplied for us forever ! 
We grudge the better strain of men 
That proved itself, and was extinguished then, — 
The field, with strength and hope so thickly sown, 
Wherefrom no other harvest shall bs mown: 
For all the land, within its clasping seas, 

Is poorer now in bravery and beauty, 

Such wealth of manly loves and energies 

Was given to teach us all the free man's sacred duty ! 
* ♦ * 

Bayard Taylor. 



GETTYSBURG. 93 

1 
i 
I 

JOHN BUENS OF GETTYSBURG. i 

HAVE you licard tlic story that gossips tell 
Of Burns of Gettysburg ? — No ? Ah, well ! 
Brief is the glory that hero earns, 
Briefer the story of poor John Burns : 

He was the fellow who won renown, — I 

The only man who did n't back down j 

When the rebels rode through his native town, 1 

But held his own in the fight next day, I 

When all his townsfolk ran away. I 

That was in July, sixty-three, j 

The very day that General Lee, ^ 

Flower of Southern chivalry, 
Baffled and beaten, backward reeled 
From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. 
I might tell how, but the day before, 
John Burns stood at his cottage door. 

Looking down the village street, ] 

Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine, j 

He heard the low of his gathered kine, 1 

And felt their breath with incense sweet ; i 

Or I might say, when the sunset burned , 

The old farm gable, he thought it turned j 

The milk, that fell in a babbling flood I 

Lito the milk-pail, red as blood ! 
Or how he fancied the hum of bees 
Were bullets buzzing among the trees. 
But all such fanciful thoughts as these 
Were strange to a practical man like Burns, 



94 POEMS OP PLACES. 

Who minded only his own concerns. 

Troubled no more by fancies fine 

Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed kine, — 

Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact. 

Slow to argue, but quick to act. 

That was the reason, as some folks say. 

He fought so well on that terrible day. 

And it was terrible. On the right 

Raged for hours the heady fight. 

Thundered the battery's double bass, — 

Difiicult music for men to face; 

While on the left — where now the graves 

Undulate like the living waves 

That all that day unceasing swept 

Up to the pits the rebels kept — 

Round shot ploughed the upland glades, 

Sown with bullets, reaped with blades ; 

Shattered fences here and there 

Tossed their splinters in the ak ; 

The very trees were stripped and bare; 

The barns that once held yellow grain 

Were heaped with harvests of the slain ; 

The cattle bellowed on the plain. 

The turkeys screamed with might and main, 

And brooding barn-fowl left their rest 

With strange shells bursting in each nest. 

Just where the tide of battle turns. 
Erect and lonely stood old John Burns. 
How do you think the man was dressed? 



GETTYSBURG. 96 

He wore au ancient long buff vest, 

Yellow as saffron, — but his best ; 

And buttoned over his manly breast 

Was a bright blue coat, with a rolhng collar, 

And large gilt buttons, —size of a dollar, — 

With tails that the country-folk called "swaller." 

He wore a broad-brimmed, bell-crowned hat. 

White as the locks on which it sat. 

Never had such a sight been seen 

Eor forty years on the village green, 

Since old John Burns was a country beau, 

And went to the " quiltings " long ago. 

Close at his elbows all that day, 

Veterans of the Peninsula, 

Sunburnt and bearded, charged away ; 

And striplings, downy of lip and chin, — 

Clerks that the Home Guard mustered in, — 

Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore, 

Then at the rifle his right hand bore ; 

And hailed him, from out their youthful lore, 

Witli scraps of a slangy repertoire: 

" How are you, White Hat ! " " Put her through ! " 

" Your head 's level," and " Bully for you ! " 

Called him "Daddy," — begged he'd disclose 

The name of the tailor who made his clothes ; 

And what was the value he set on those, 

While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff, 

Stood there picking the rebels off, — 

With his long brown rifle, and bell-crown hat, 

And the swallow-tails they were laughing at. 



96 POEMS OF PLACES. i 

'Twas but a moment, for that respect ' 

Wliicli clotlies all courage their voices checked; '. 

And something the wildest could understand j 
Spake in the old man's strong right hand; 

And his corded throat, and the lurking frown I 

Of liis eyebrows under his old bell-crown ; ! 

Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe | 
Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw, 

In the antique vestments and long white hair, ; 

The Past of the Nation in battle there; ; 

And some of the soldiers since declare I 

That the gleam of his old white hat afar, ] 

Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, ; 

That day was their oriliamme of war. j 

So raged the battle. You know the rest: 

How the rebels, beaten, and backward pressed. 

Broke at the iinal charge, and ran. i 

At which John Burns — a practical man — • 

Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows, j 

And then went back to his bees and cows. 1 

That is the story of old John Burns ; 

This is the moral the reader learns: 

In fighting the battle, the question 's whether 

You '11 show a hat that 's white, or a feather. 

Bret Harte, 




The Hudson's sleeping waters." See page 



HUDSON, THE RIVER. 9? 

Hudson y the Biver, N. Y. 

THE HUDSON. ; 

THROUGH many a blooming wild and woodland 
green . 

The Hudson's sleeping waters winding stray; < 

Now 'mongst the hills its silvery waves are seen, ] 

Through arching willows now they steal away; 
Now more majestic roUs the ample tide, J 

TaU waving elms its clovery borders shade, ■; 

And many a stately dome, in ancient pride 

And hoary grandeur, there exalts its head. 
There trace the marks of culture's sunburnt hand, 

The honeyed buckwheat's clustering blossoms view, — 
Dripping rich odors, mark the beard-grain bland, 

The loaded orchard, and the flax-field blue ; 
The grassy hill, the quivering poplar grove. 

The copse of hazel, and the tufted bank. 
The long green valley where the white flocks rove, 

The jutting rock, o'erhung with ivy dank ; ; 

The tall pines waving on the mountain's brow, ; 

Whose lofty spires catch day's last lingering beam; 

The benfting willow weeping o'er the stream. 
The brook's soft gurglings, and the garden's glow. 
'. * * * 

Margaretta V. Taugeren. 



98 POEMS OF PLACES. 



A SCENE ON THE BANKS OF THE HUDSON. 

COOL shades and dews are round my way. 
And silence of the early day ; 
Mid the dark rocks that watch his bed. 
Gutters the mighty Hudson spread, 
Unrippled, save by drops that fall 
From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall ; 
And o'er the clear still water swells 
The music of the Sabbath bells. 

All, save this little nook of land, 

Circled with trees, on which I stand ; 

All, save that line of hills which lie 

Suspended in the mimic sky, — 

Seems a blue void, above, below, 

Through which the white clouds come and go: 

And from the green world's farthest steep 

I gaze into the airy deep. 

Loveliest of lovely things are they, 
On earth, that soonest pass away. 
The rose that lives its little hour 
Is prized beyond the sculptured flower. 
Even love, long tried and cherished long, 
Becomes more tender and more strong, 
At thought of that insatiate grave 
From which its yearnings cannot save. 

River! in tliis still hour thou hast 
Too much of heaven on earth to last; 



HUDSON, THE RIVER. 99 

Nor long may thy still waters lie. 
An image of tlie glorious sky. 
Thy fate and mine are not repose. 
And ere another evening close, 
Thou to thy tides shalt turn again. 
And I to seek the crowd of men. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



THE HUDSON. 

'rp WAS a vision of childhood that came with its dawn, 
J- Ere the curtain that covered life's day-star was 
drawn ; 
The nurse told the tale when the shadows grew long, 
And the mother's soft lullaby breathed it in song. 

" There flows a fair stream by the hills of the west," — 
She sang to her boy as he lay on her breast ; 
"Along its smooth margin thy fathers have played; 
Beside its deep waters their ashes are laid." 

I wandered afar from the land of my birth, 
I saw the old rivers, renowned upon earth. 
But fancy still painted that wide- tlo wing stream 
With the many-hued pencil of infancy's dream. 

I saw the green banks of tlie castle-crowned Bliine, 
Where the grapes drink the moonlight and change it 

to wine ; 
I stood by the Avon, whose waves as they glide 
Still whisper his glory who sleeps at their side. 



100 POEMS OF PLACES. 

But my heart would still yearn for the sound of the 

waves 
That sing as they flow by my forefathers' graves; 
If manhood yet honors my cheek with a tear, 
I care not who sees it, — no blush for it here ! 

Farewell to the deep-bosomed stream of the West ! 
I fling this loose blossom to float on its breast ; , 

Nor let the dear love of its children gi-ow cold. 
Till the channel is dry where its waters have rolled ! 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



THE HUDSON. 

'nn IS the middle watch of a summer's night : 

JL The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright ; 
Naught is seen in the vault on high 
But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, 
And the flood which rolls its milky hue, 
A river of light on the welkin blue. 
The moon looks down on old Cronest: 
She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast. 
And seems his huge gray form to throw 
In a silver cone on the wave below ; 
His sides are broken by spots of shade 
By the walnut bough and the cedar made. 
And through their clustering branches dark 
Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark, — - 
Like starry twinkles that momently break 
Through the rifts of the gatliering tempest's rack. 



HUDSON, THE RIVER. 101 

The stars are on the moving stream, 

And lling, as its ripples gently flow, 
A burnished length of wavy beam 

In an eel-like spiral line below ; 
The winds are whist and the owl is still, 

The bat in the shelvy rock is hid, 
And naught is heard on the lonely hill 
But the crieket's ehirp, and the answer shrill 

Of the gauze-winged katydid; 
And the plaint of the wailing whippoorwill. 

Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings. 
Ever a note of wail and woe, 

Till morning spreads her rosy wings, 
And earth and sky in her glances glow. 

Josejih Rodman Drake. 



THE WRECK OF THE AXCIENT COASTEE. ! 



HER side is in the water. 
Her keel is in the sand. 
And her bowsprit rests on the low gray rock 
That bounds the sea and land. 

Her deck is without a mast. 

And sand and shells are there. 
And the teeth of decay are gnawing her planks. 

In the sun and the sultry air. 

No more on the river's bosom, 

IVhen sky and wave are calm. 
And the clouds are in summer quietness. 

And the cool night-breath is balm. 



10:2 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Will she glide in the swan-like stillness 
Of the moon in the bine above, 

A messenger from other lands, 
A beacon to hope and love. 

No more, in the midnight tempest. 
Will she mock the mounting sea, 

Strong in her oaken timbers, 

And her white sail's bravery. 

She hath borne, in days departed. 
Warm hearts upon her deck ; 

Those hearts, like her, are mouldering now, 
The victims, and the wreck 

Of time, whose touch erases 

Each vestige of all we love; 
The wanderers, home returning. 

Who gazed that deck above, 

And they who stood to welcome 

Their loved ones on that shore. 
Are gone, and the place that knew them 
Shall know them nevermore. 
* * * 

Fitz- Greene Halleck. 



THE GATES OF THE HUDSOIT. 

SO bright the day, so clear the sky, 
So grand the scene before me, 
My meaner life my soul puts by, 
And a better mood comes o'er me. 



HUDSON, THE RIVER. 103 

Trom under trees whose rustling leaves 

Wear all their autumn glory, 
I watch the brown fields far below. 

And the headlands, gray and hoary. 

I see the beetling Palisades, 

Whose wrinkled brows forever, 
In calms and storms, in lights and shades, 

Keep watch along the river. 

Such watch, of old, the Magi kept 

Along the sad Euphrates : — 
Our eyeless ones have never slept. 

And this their solemn fate is : 

God built these hills in barrier long. 
And then he opened through them 

These gates of granite, barred so strong 
He only might undo them; 

Through them he lets the Hudson flow 

For slowly counted ages. 
The while the nations fade and grow 

Around the granite ledges. 

He bids these warders watch and wait. 

Their vigil ne'er forsaking, 
Forever standing by the gate, 

Not moving and not speaking. 

So, all earth's day, till night shall fall. 

When God shall send his orders. 
And summon at one trumpet-call 

The grim and patient warders. 



104 POEMS OF PLACES. 

The guards shall bow, the gates shall close 

Upon the obedient river. 
And then no more the Hudson flows. 

Forever and forever. 

William shorn Stoddard. 



TO THE HUDSON. 

OEIVER ! gently as a wayward child 
I saw thee mid the moonlight hills at rest; 
Capricious thing, with thine own beauty wild. 
How didst thou still the throbbings of thy breast ! 
Rude headlands were about thee, stooping round. 
As if amid the hills to hold thy stay; 
But thou didst hear the far-off ocean sound 
Inviting thee from hill and vale away. 
To mingle thy deep waters with its own; 
And, at that voice, thy steps did onward glide, 
Onward from echoing hill and valley lone. 
Like thine, oh, be my course, — nor turned aside. 
While listing to the soundings of a land. 
That like the ocean caU invites me to its strand. 

Elizabeth Oakes-Sniith. 



HUDSON RIVER. 

RIVERS that roll most musical in song 
Are often lovely to the mind alone; 
The wanderer muses, as he moves along 

Theii: barren banks, on glories not their own. 



HUDSON, THE RIVER. 105 

When, to give substance to his boyish dreams. 
He leaves his own, far countries to survey, 

Oft must he think, in greeting foreign streams, 
"Their names alone are beautiful, not they," 

If chance lie mark the dwindled Arno pour 
A tide more meagre than his native Charles ; 

Or views the Rhone when summer's heat is o'er, 
Subdued and stagnant in the fen of Aries; 

Or when he sees the slimy Tiber fling 
His sullen tribute at the feet of Rome, 

Oft to liis thought must partial memory bring 
More noble waves, without renown, at home ; 

Now let liim climb the Catskill, to behold 
The lordly Hudson, marching to the main, 

And say what bard, in any land of old. 
Had such a river to inspire his strain. 

Along the Rhine gray battlements and towers 
Declare what robbers once the realm possessed ; 

But here Heaven's handiwork surpasseth ours. 
And man has hardly more than built his nest. 

No storied castle overawes these heights. 
Nor antique arches check the current's play. 

Nor mouldering architrave the mind invites 
To dream of deities long passed away. 

No Gothic buttress, or decayhig shaft 
Of marble, yellowed by a thousand years. 



106 , POEMS OF PLACES. 

Lifts a great landmark to tlie little craft, — 
A summer cloud ! that comes and disappears. 

But cliifs, unaltered from tlieir primal form 
Since the subsiding of the deluge, rise 

And hold their savins to the upper storm. 
While far below the skiff securely plies. 

Farms, rich not more in meadows than in men 
Of Saxon mould, and strong for every toil. 

Spread o'er the plain, or scatter through the glen, 
Boeotian plenty on a Spartan soil. 

Then, where the reign of cultivation ends. 
Again the charming wilderness begins ; 

Erom steep to steep one solemn wood extends. 
Till some new hamlet's rise the boscage tliins. 

And these deep groves forever have remained 
Touched by no axe, — by no proud owner nursed : 

As now they stand they stood when Pharaoh reigned. 
Lineal descendants of creation's first. 
* * ♦ 

No tales, we know, are chronicled of thee 
In ancient scrolls ; no deeds of doubtful claim 

Have hung a history on every tree, 

And given each rock its fable and a fame. 

But neither here hath any conqueror trod, 
Nor grim invaders from barbarian climes ; 

No horrors feigned of giant or of god 
Pollute thy stillness with recorded crimes. 



HUDSON, THE RIVER. 107 

Here never yet have liappy fields laid waste, 
Tlie ravished harvest and the blasted fruit, 

The cottage ruined, and the shrine defaeed, 
Traeked the foul passage of the feudal brute. 

" Yet, O Antiquity ! " the stranger sighs, 

" Scenes wanting thee soon pall upon the view ; 

The soul's indifference dulls the sated eyes, 
Wliere all is fair indeed, — but all is new." 

False thought ! is age to crumbling walls confined ? 

To Grecian fragments and Egyptian bones ? 
Hath Time no monuments to raise the mind. 

More than old fortresses and sculptured stones ? 

Call not this new which is the only land 

That wears unchanged the same primeval face 

Wliich, when just dawning from its Maker's hand, 
Gladdened the first great grandsire of our race. 

Nor did Euphrates with an earlier birth 

Glide past green Eden towards the unknown south, 

Than Hudson broke upon the infant earth, 

And kissed the ocean with his nameless mouth. 

Twin-born with Jordan, Ganges, and the Nile ! 

Thebes and the pyramids to thee are young; 
0, had thy waters burst from Britain's isle. 

Till now perchance they had not flowed unsung. 
Thomas William Parsons. 



108 POEMS OF PLACES. 



THE INDIAN MOUND. 



The Mouud ncu^ towers • 

Close to my step. The grouped sheep scamper ^yide, * 

Turn their smooth, pointed faces, gaze and bleat, . 

Then scamper as before. ; 

The crest I win. 
A hazed horizon of aerial tints, ; 

Melting the mountains to a tender dream, 
Tinging the nearer hills, and quivering round 
The neighboring roofs in hues that scarce are hues, ; 

But dehcate shadows, fleeting breaths of hues. 
Semi-transparent veils of shimmering light. 
At length the landscape struggles clearer out; 
Mountains and woodlands outlined dim, with curves 
Of filmy hills and streaks of gauzy green. 
The lowering eye then lights upon the domes 
And steeples of the city ; then the broad i 

Transparent river. Thence dark crossing lines ] 

Of fences, nestling homesteads, scattered trees, ! 

Red buckwheat stubbles, withered stacks of com. 
And fading fields, come stretching to the Mound. ! 

I hear J^]olian tones : the rapid bark, 
The mellowed low, the pleasant bleat, the hum 
Of toil, the shout, the whistle, and the song, 
Keen clink of scythe, and now and then the smite 
Of hoof upon the road, the whir of wheels j 

On the smooth track, and then the rumble brief | 

Over the bridge. The heaped hay-wagon jerks 
Across the mounded field, its hillock brown 



HUDSON, THE RIVER. 109 | 

Holding the harvesters, witli pitchforks struck i 

Within the odorous mass. White cattle gleam ] 

From apple-shades, the red kine mingling in I 

So as scarce rounding forth. The unkempt colt 
Perks his observant ear, and glares as goes 
The tottering wagon with the welcome hay 

Througli the barn's weedy lane. | 

A sketch of smoke | 

Catches my eye ; the narrow steamboat glides i 

Along the mirrored river; to the shore ! 

Dances the swell. The tall and tapering sloop. 

Lazily next, w4th her great mainsail spread ! 

To catcli the air, moves past ; then darts a skiff 
With glittering oars. 

While drinking in the scene, 
My mind goes back upon the tide of years, i 

And lo, a vision ! On its upward path ', 

The Half-Moon glides. The crowded forests lean ' 

Their foliage in the waters, and expand i 

One sea of leaves all round me. On the deck [ 

Stands the bold Hudson, gazing at the sights 

Opening successive, — point and rock and hill, , 

Majestic mountain-top, and nestling vale. 

As the white sail glints sudden to the sun, I 

Off swings the eagle from the neighboring pine ; 
And as the long boom brushes by the brink, 
Tiie brown bear jolts away within the bush. 

The drinking deer winks from the sandy point, I 

And breath-like from the ledge the panther melts. \ 

As up some reach the vessel moves, within , I 

The archway of a creek the bark canoe \ 

\ 



110 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Darts aiTOW-like ; as turns the prow iu-shore 

The Indian hunter with recoihng form 

Stands grasping idly his forgotten bow; 

And as the yacht around some headland breaks, 

Amid the rounded wigwams on the bank 

Leap startled movements of tumultuous life, 

Pointing with eager haste, and gazing wild. 

Still on the Half-Moon glides; before her rise 

Swarms of quick water-fowl, and from her prow 

The sturgeon leaps, and falls with echoing splash. 

Between the frequent islets brimmed with leaves 

The sheldrake, in his green and silver, shoots. 

And antlers stem the gloss. But now the sun 

Slants low, and by an island of the stream 

The anchor plunges, and the Half-Moon sits 

Still as a sleeping duck. I start, and wake. 

The busy river- scene again extends 

In the soft sundown glow. The grouping herds 

Through the sleek fields of golden velvet graze 

Slow toward the farm-yard ; softened rural sounds — 

The wheezing bellow, the quick, peevish bleat. 

And the clear, jerking crow — fall on my ear; 

And, with quick footsteps througli the amber scene, 

Past maple-nestling homesteads, where the steeds 

Unloosed are led to water; where the kine, 

Patient, await within the lane, the pail; 

And where the mouse-hke wren creeps in and out 

Its little cottage fastened to the tree. 

To give one chatter more ; past laboring groups 

Loitering along with instruments of toil. 

Past farmers' wagons clattering toward their homes 



HUDSON, THE RIVER. Ill 

From city barterings, — contrast strong to "^hen, 
A century since, one forest clothed the whole. 
One silent solitude, — the river's bank 
I reach, where, in the hush, the rowlock sounds 
Loud, and the tiller of the crawling sloop 
Creaks louder; thence, swift wafted o'er the tide, 
I gain the peopled streets that hold my home ; 
Dwelling upon the everlasting stream 
Of change and progress coursing through the world. 

Alfred BilUngs Street, 



HYMN TO THE HUDSON BIVER. 

LOSE not a memory of the glorious scenes, 
Mountains, and palisades, and leaning rocks, 
Steep white-walled towns and ships that he beneath, 
By which, like some serene, heroic soul 
Revolving noble thoughts, thou calmly cam'st, 
O mighty river of the North ! Thy lip 
Meets Ocean here, and in deep joy he lifts 
His great white brow, and gives his stormy voice ■ 
A milder tone, and murmurs pleasantly 
To every shore, and bids the insolent blast 
To touch thee very gently ; for thy banks 
Held empires broad and populous as the leaves 
That rustle o'er their grave, — republics gone 
Long, long ago, before the pale men came. 
Like clouds into the dim and dusty past : 
But there is dearer reason ; for the riUs 
That feed thee, rise among the storied rocks 
Wliere Freedom built her battle-tower; and blow 



112 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Their flutes of silver by the poor man's door ; 
And innocent childhood in the ripple dips 
Its rosy feet ; and from the round blue sky 
That circles all, smiles out a certain Godhead. 

O lordly river ! thou shalt henceforth be 
A wanderer of the deep ; and thou shalt hear 
The sad, wild voices of the solemn North 
Utter uncertain words in cloudy rhythm, 
But full of terrible meaning, to the wave 
That moans by Labrador; and thou shalt pause 
To pay thy worship in the coral temples, 
The ancient Meccas of the reverent sea; 
And thou shalt start again on thy blue path 
To kiss the southern isles ; and thou shalt know 
What beauty thrones the blue Symplegades, 
What glory the long Dardanelles ; and France 
Shall listen to thy calm, deep voice, and learn 
That Freedom must be calm if she would fix 
Her mountain moveless in a heaving world; 
And Greece shall hear thee chant by Marathon, 
And Italy shall feel thy breathing on her shores. 
Where Liberty once more takes up her lance ; 
And when thou hurriest back, full of high themes, 
Great Albion shall joy through every cliff. 
And lordly hall, and peasant-home, and old 
Cathedral where earth's emperors sleep, — whose crowns 
Were laurel and whose sceptres pen and harp, — 
The mother of our race shall joy to hear 
Thy low, sweet murmuring : her sonorous tongue 
Is thine, her glory thine ; for thou dost bear 



HUDSON, THE RIVER. 113 

On thy rejoicing tide, rejoicing at the task, 
The manly Saxon sprung from her own loins 
In far America. 

Roll on ! roll on, 
Thou river of the North ! Tell thou to all 
The isles, tell thou to all the continents 
The grandeur of my land. Speak of its vales 
Where Independence wears a pastoral wreath 
Amid the holy quiet of his flock ; 
And of its mountains with their cloudy beards 
Tossed by the breath of centuries ; and speak 
Of its tall cataracts that roll their bass 
Among the choral of its midnight storms, 
And of its rivers lingering through the plains. 
So long, that they seem made to measure Time; 
And of its lakes that mock the haughty sea; 
And of its caves where banished gods might find 
Night large enough to hide their crownless heads ; 
And of its sunsets, glorious and broad 
Above the prairies spread like oceans on 
And on, and on over the far dim leagues. 
Till vision shudders o'er immensity. 
Roll on ! roll on, thou river of the North ! 
Bear on thy wave the music of the crash 
That tells a forest's fall, wide woods that hold 
Beneath their cloistered bark a registry 
Where Time may almost find how old he is. 
Keep in thy memory the frequent homes, 
That from the ruin rise, the triumphs these 
Of real kings whose conquering march shines up 
Into the wondering Oregon. 

* * * 

William Wallace. 



114 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Lehigh, the River, Pa. 

THE LEHIGH. 

AND this is Lebigli. Once again 
My wearied feet are taking 
The well-known path along thy brink. 
And memory is waking, — 
Sad harp of mine, awake, awake, 
And sing the pensive story. 
That sighs and murmurs through ray head 
Beneath this forest hoary. 

Oh ! thou bright river, dost thou know 

The pilgrim late returning 

To view once more the autumn fires 

Along thy valley burning? 

To view her father's heritage. 

That father lowly sleeping, 

Far from the green and lonely grave 

In the old hemlock's keeping. 

Thy mountain still is standing firm. 
Its shadows o'er thee bending, 
Its lofty pines, its laurel blooms. 
Their sweet enchantment lending. 
Along thy banks the wandering vine. 
Its purple fruit untasted, 
Still casts upon thy careless tide 
Its clustered treasures, wasted. 



LEHIOH, THE RIVER. 115 

And still the timid deer coinc down 
To drink, at eve and morning ; 
And still the laurel blooms as bright 
As in my life's glad dawning. 
Thy gray rocks seem no older grown, 
Thy beauties fresh and tender 
As when we came, a frolic band. 
Our childhood's praise to render. 

For Lehigh was our joy and pride. 

Our glad, beloved river ; 

And all around was charmed ground, 

Our home ! delightful ever. 

Our nightingale the whippoorwill. 

The water-elves our cronies. 

Their camp-fire smoke of mist we knew ; 

Our game the trout and conies. 

Lehigh, I dream that in thy voice 
I catch a tone of gladness. 
That yearning love is in thy touch. 
That thou wouldst soothe my sadness. 
Only in dreams for thirty years 
Have I beheld thee flowing, — 
Whither away so fast, dear stream? 
Why dost thou moan in going ? 

I see the unforgotten grave ! 

Moan on, faithful river! 

Where all the lights of home went out, 

To shine no more forever. 

But stay, and tell me where are they 



116 POEMS OF PLACES. 

That, in the years bug vanished. 
Beside thy waters played with me, — 
Hast thou their memory banished? 



Augusta Moore. 



Mahopac, the Lake, N, Y. 

LAKE MAHOPAC. 

LAKE of the soft and sunny hills. 
What loveliness is thine ! 
Around thy fair, romantic shore 

What countless beauties shine ! 
Shrined in their deep and hollow urn. 

Thy silver waters lie, — 
A mirror set in waving gems 
Of many a regal dye. 

Like angel faces in a dream. 

Bright isles upon thy breast, 
Yelled in soft robes of hazy Hght, 

In such sweet silence rest. 
The rustle of a bird's light wing. 

The shiver of the trees, 
The chime of waves, are all the sounds 

That freight the summer breeze. 

Oh, beautiful it is along 
Thy silver wave to glide, 



MAIIOPAC, THE LAKE. 11? 

And watch tlic ripples as tliey kiss 

Our tiny vessel's side ; 
While ever round the dipping oar 

White curls the feathery spray, 
Or from its bright suspended point 

Drips tinkhngly away. 

And pleasant to the heart it is 

In those fair isles to stray, 
Or Fancy's idle visions weave 

Through all the golden day, 
Where dark old trees, around whose stems 

Caressing woodbines cHng, 
O'er mossy, flower-enamelled banks, 

Their trembling shadows fling. 

Oh, he who in his daily paths 

A weary spirit bears, 
Here in these peaceful sohtudes 

May he lay down his cares: 
No echo from the restless world 

Shall his repose invade. 
Where the spectres of the haunted heart 

By Nature's self are laid. 
* * * 

Caroline 31. Sawi/er. 



118 POEMS OF PLACES. 



Mohawk, the Biver, N, Y, 

THE CATARACT OF THE MOHAWK. 

YE black rocks, Imdclled like a fallen waU, 
Ponderous and steep, 
Where silver currents downward coil and fall, 

And rank weeds weep ! — 
Thou broad and shallow bed, whose suUen floods. 
Show barren islets of red stones and sand, — 
Shrunk is thy might beneath a fatal Hand, 
That will erase all memories from the woods. 

No more with war-paint, shells, and feathers grim, 

The Indian chief 
Casts his long, frightful shade from bank or brim. 

A blighted leaf 
Floats by, — the emblem of his history ! 

Tor though when rains are strong, the cataract 
Again rolls on, its currents soon contract, 
Or serve for neighboring mill and factory. 

A cloud — of dragon's blood in hue — hangs blent 

With streaks and veins 
Of gall-stone yellow, and of orpiment, 

O'er thy remains. 
Never again, with grandeur, in the beam 
Of sunrise, or of noon, or changeful night, 
Shalt thou in thunder chant thine old birthright: 
Tallen Mohawk ! pass to thy stormy dream ! 

Richard Ilengist Home, 



MOHAWK, THE RIVER. 119 



FALLS OF THE MOHAWK. 

FROM rise of morn till set of sun 
I 've seen the mighty ]\[oha\7k run; 
And as I Marked the woods of pine 
Along his mirror darkly shine, 
Like tall and gloomy forms that pass 
Before the wizard's midnight glass; 
And as I viewed the hurrying pace 
"With which he ran his turbid race, 
Rushing, alike untired and wild. 
Through shades that frowned and flowers that smiled, 
Flying by every green recess 
That wooed him to its calm caress, 
Yet, sometimes turning with the wind. 
As if to leave one look behind, 
Oft have I thought, and thinking sighed, 
How like to thee, thou restless tide. 
May be the lot, the life of him 
Who roams along thy water's brim; 
Through what alternate wastes of woe 
And flowers of joy my path may go; 
How many a sheltered, calm retreat 
May woo the while my weary feet, 
"Wliile still pursuing, still unblcst, 
I wander on, nor dare to rest ; 
But, urgent as the doom that caUs 
Thy water to its destined falls, 
I feel the world's bewildering force 
Hurry my heart's devoted course 



120 POEMS OF PLACES. 

From lapse to lapse, till life be done, 
Aiid the spent current cease to run. 

One only prayer I dare to make, 
As onward thus my course I take, — 
Oh, be my falls as bright as thine ! 
May heaven's relenting rainbow shme 
Upon the mist that circles me, 
As soft as now it hangs o'er thee ! 

Thomas Moore- 



Mongaup, the Eiver, N, Y, 

THE FALLS OF THE MONGAUP. 

STRUGGLING along the mountain path, 
We hear, amid the gloom. 
Like a roused giant's voice of wrath, 

A deep-toned, sullen boom : 
Emerging on the platform high, 
Burst sudden to the startled eye 
Rocks, woods, and waters, wild and rude, — 
A scene of savage solitude. 

Swift as an arrow from the bow. 

Headlong the torrent leaps, 
Then tumbling round, in dazzling snow 

And dizzy whirls it sweeps ; 
Then, shooting through the narrow aisle 
Of this sublime cathedral pile. 




-•« This rock-walled sable pool." See page 121 



MONGAUP, THE RIVER. 121 

Amid its vastuess, dark and grim, 
It peals its everlasting liymn. 

Pyramid on pyramid of rock 

Tower upward wild and riven, 
As piled by Titan hands to mock 

The distant smiling heaven. 
And where its blue streak is displayed, 
Branches their emerald network braid 
So high, the eagle in his flight 
Seems but a dot upon the sight. 

Here columned hemlocks point in air 

Their cone-like fringes green ; 
Their trunks hang knotted, black, and bare. 

Like spectres o'er the scene; 
Here, lofty crag and deep abyss. 
And awe-inspiring precipice ; 
There, grottos bright in wave-worn gloss, 
And carpeted with velvet moss. 

1^0 wandering ray e'er kissed with light 

This rock-walled sable pool. 
Spangled with foam-gems thick and white. 

And slumbering deep and cool; 
But where yon cataract roars doMTi, 
Set by the sun, a rainbow crown 
Is dancing o'er the dashing strife, — 
Hope ghttering o'er the storm of life. 



Beyond, the smooth and mirrored sheet 
So gently steals along. 



122 POEMS OF PLACES. 

The very ripples, murmuring s^eet, 

Scarce drown the wild bee's song; 
The violet from the grassy side 
Dips its blue chalice in the tide ; 
And, gliding o'er the leafy brink, 
The deer, unfrightened, stoops to drink. 

Myriads of man's time-measured race 
Have vanished from the earth. 

Nor left a memory of their trace. 
Since first this scene had birth ; 

These waters, thundering now along, 

Joined in Creation's matin-song; 

And only by their dial-trees 

Have known the lapse of centuries ! 

Alfred Billings Street. 



Monmouth, N. J, 

THE SPUR OF MOXMOUTH. 

'm WAS a little brass half-circlet, 

-L Deep gnawed by rust and stain, 
That the farmer's urchin brought me. 

Ploughed up in old Monmouth's plain; 
On that spot where the hot June sunshine 

Once a fire more deadly knew, 
And a bloodier color reddened 

Where the red June roses blew ; — 



MONMOUTH. 123 

Where the moon of the early harvest 

Looked down through the shimmering leaves. 
And saw where the reaper of battle 

Had gathered his human sheaves: 
Old IMonmouth, so touched with glory, 

So tinted with burning shame, 
As Washington's pride we remember, 

Or Lee's long-tarnished name, 

'T was a little brass half-cirelet ; 

And knocking the rust away, 
And clearing the ends and the middle 

Prom their burial-shroud of clay, 
I saw, through the damp of ages, 

And the thick, disfiguring grime. 
The buckle-heads and the rowel 

Of a spur of the olden time. 

And I said, "What gallant horseman, 

Who revels and rides no more, 
Perhaps twenty years back, or fifty, 

On his heel that weapon wore ? 
Was he riding away to his bridal, 

When the leather snapped in twain? 
Was he thrown, and dragged by the stirrup. 

With the rough stones crushing his brain ? " 

Then I thouglit of the Revolution, 

Wliosc tide still onward rolls ; 
Of the free and the fearless riders. 

Of the "times that tried men's souls." 



124 POEMS OF PLACES. j 

"VYliat if, in tlie day of battle \ 

That raged aud rioted here, 

It had dropped from the foot of a soldier, j 

As he rode in his mad career? | 

i 

Wliat if it had ridden with Porman, j 

When he leaped through the open door. 
With the British dragoon behind him. 

In his race o'er the granary -floor ? 
What if — but the brain grows dizzy 

With the thoughts of the rusted spur — i 

What if it had fled with Clinton, i 

Or charged with Aaron Burr? \ 



But bravely the farmer's urchin 

Had been scraping the rust away; 
And, cleaned from the soil that swathed it, 

The spur before me lay. 
Here are holes in the outer circle; 

No common heel it has known, 
For each space, I see by the setting, 

Once held some precious stone. 

And here, not far from the buckle — 

Do my eyes deceive their sight? — 
Two letters are here engraven. 

That initial a hero's might ! — 
*' G. W, ! " Saints of heaven ! — 

Can such things in our lives occur? 
Do I grasp such a priceless treasure ? 

Was this George Washington's spur? 



MONMOUTH. 125 

Did the brave old Pater Patria? 

Wear that spur, like a belted knight, — 
Wear it, through gain and disaster. 

From Cambridge to Monmouth fight? 
Did it press his steed in hot anger 

On Long Island's day of paiuF 
Did it drive him at terrible Princeton 

'Tweeu two streams of leaden rain ? 

And here did the buckles loosen, 

And no eye look down to see, 
W^hen he rode to blast with the lightning 

The defiant eyes of Lee ? 
Did it fall, mifelt and unheeded. 

When that fight of despair was won, 
And Clinton, worn and discouraged. 

Crept away at the set of the sun? 

The lips have long been silent 

That could send an answer back; 
And the spur, all broken and rusted. 

Has it forgotten its rider's track ? 
I only know that the pulses 

Leap hot, and the senses reel. 
When I think that the Spur of Monmouth 

May have clasped George Washington's heel! 

Henri/ Morford. 



126 POEMS OF PLACES. 



MOLLY MAGUIRE AT MONMOUTH. 

ON the bloody field of Monmouth 
Flashed the guns of Greene and Wayne, 
Fiercely roared the tide of battle, 

Thick the sward was heaped with slain. 
Foremost, facing death and danger, 

Hessian, horse, and grenadier, 
In the vanguard, fiercely fighting, 
Stood an Irish Cannonier. 

Loudly roared his iron cannon. 

Mingling ever in the strife, 
And beside him, firm and daring. 

Stood his faithful Irish wife. 
Of her bold contempt of danger 

Greene and Lee's Brigades could tell. 
Every one knew " Captain Molly," 

And the army loved her well. 



Surged the roar of battle round them, \ 

Swiftly flew the iron hail, 
Forward dashed a thousand bayonets, [ 

That lone battery to assail. 
From the foeman's foremost columns '; 

Swept a furious fusillade. 
Mowing down the massed battalions i 

In the ranks of Greene's Brigade. ] 

Fast and faster worked the gunner. 
Soiled with powder, blood, and dust, 



MONMOUTH. 127 

English bayonets slione before him. 
Shot and shell around him burst; 

Still he fought with reckless daring, 
Stood and manned her long and well, 

Till at last the gallant fellow 
Dead — beside his cannon fell. 

With a bitter cry of sorrow. 

And a dark and angry frown. 
Looked that band of gallant patriots 

At their gunner stricken down. 
" Eall back, comrades, it is folly 

Thus to strive against the foe." 
"No! not so," cried Irish Molly, 

"We can strike another blow." 
* * * 

Quickly leaped she to the cannon, 

In her fallen husband's place, 
Sponged and rammed it fast and steady, 

Fired it in the foeman's face. 
Plashed another ringing volley, 

Roared another from the gun; 
" Boys, hurrah ! " cried gallant Molly, 

"For the flag of Washington." 

Greene's Brigade, though torn and shattered, 
Slain and bleeding half their men. 

When they heard that Irish slogan. 
Turned and charged the foe again. 

Knox and Wayne and Morgan rally, 
To the front they forward wheel, 



128 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And before their rushing onset 
Chnton's English columns reel. 

Still the cannon's voice in anger 

Rolled and rattled o'er the plain. 
Till there lay in swarms around it 

Mangled heaps of Hessian slain. 
" Forward ! charge them with the bayonet ! " 

'Twas the voice of Washington, 
And there burst a fiery greeting 

From the Irish woman's gun. 

Monckton falls ; against his columns 

Leap the troops of Mayne and Lee, 
And before their reeking bayonets 

Clinton's red battalions flee. 
Morgan's rifles, fiercely flashing, 

Thin the foe's retreating ranks. 
And behind them onward dashing 

Ogden hovers on their flanks. 

Fast they fly, these boasting Britons, 

Who in all their glory came. 
With their brutal Hessian hirehngs 

To wipe out our country's name. 
Proudly floats the starry banner, 

Monmouth's glorious field is won. 
And in triumph Irish Molly 

Stands beside her smoking gun. 

William Collins. 



MONMOUTH. 129 



MONMOUTH. 



LADIES, in silks and laces. 
Lunching with hps agleam. 
Know you aught of the places 
Yielding such fruit and cream? 

South from your harbor-islands 

Glisten the Monmouth hills ; | 

There are the ocean highlands, ^ 

Lowland meadows and rills, 

Berries in field and garden, i 

Trees with their fruitage low, i 

Maidens (asking your pardon) 
Handsome as cities show. 

Know you that, night and morning, 

A beautiful water-fay, 
Covered with strange adorning. 

Crosses your rippling bay? ■ . 

1 

Her sides are white and sparkUng; ] 

She whistles to the shore; ! 

Behind, her hair is darkling. 
And the waters part before. 

Lightly the waves she measures i 

Up to the wharves of the town; 
There, unlading her treasures, 

Lovingly puts them down. 



130 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Come witli me, ladies ; cluster 
Here on the western pier ; 

Look at her jewels' lustre, 

Changed with the changing year! 

First of the months to woo her, 
June his strawberries flings 

Over her garniture. 

Bringing her exquisite things; 

Rifling his richest casket; 

Handing her, everywhere. 
Garnets in crate and basket; 

Knowing she soon wiU wear 

Blackberry jet and lava. 

Raspberries ruby-red, 
Trinkets that August gave her. 

Over her toilet spread. 

After such gifts have faded, 
Then the peaches are seen, — 

Coral and ivory braided, 
Fit for an Indian queen. 

And September will send her, 
Proud of his wealth, and bold, 

Melons glowing in splendor. 
Emeralds set with gold. 

So she glides to the Narrows, 
Where the forts are astir : 

Her speed is a sliining arrow's! 
Guns are silent for her. 



NEVERSINK. 131 

So she glides to the ringing 

Bells of the belfried town, 
Kissing the wharves, and flinging 

All of her jewels down. 

Whence she gathers her riches. 

Ladies, now would you see ? 
Leaving your city niches, 

Wander awhile with me. 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



Neversink, N. J, 

NEVERSINK. 

THESE hills, the pride of all the coast. 
To mighty distance seen, 
With aspect buld and rugged brow, 
That shade the neighboring main; 
These heights, for soHtude designed. 
This rude, resounding shore. 
These vales impervious to tlie wind, 
Tall oaks, that to the tempest bend, 
Half Druid, I adore. 

From distant lands a thousand sails 

Your hazy summits greet, — 

You saw the angry Briton come. 

You saw him, last, retreat ! 

With towering crest, you first appear 

The news of land to tell : 



132 POEMS OF PLi«LCEg, 

To liim that comes, fresli joys impart. 
To him that goes, a heavy heart, 
The lover's long farewell. 

'Tis yours to see the sailor bold, i 

Of persevering miud, | 

To see him rove in search of care, ] 

And leave true bliss behind; | 

To see him spread his flowing sails 
To trace a tiresome road, i 

By wintry seas and tempests chased, ] 

To see hira o'er the ocean haste, \ 

A comfortless abode! i 

Your thousand springs of waters blue \ 

What luxury to sip, ] 

As from the mountain's breast they flow j 

To moisten Flora's lip ! 

In vast retirements herd the deer, 

Where forests round them rise, \ 

Dark groves, their tops in ether lost, i 

That, haunted still by Huddy's ghost, j 

The trembling rustic flies. { 

Proud heights ! with pain so often seen ; 

(With joy beheld once more), j 

On your firm base I take my stand, ■ 

Tenacious of the shore : ! 

Let those who pant for wealth or fame 

Pursue the watery road; 

Soft sleep and ease, blest days and nights, j 

And health, attend these favorite heights, n 

Retirement's blest abode ! i 

PhiUp Freneau. j 



NEW AUK. 133 

Newark, N. J. 

THE DISTANT MART. 

THE day is shut ; — November's niglit. 
On Newark's long and rolling heiglit 
Falls suddenly and soon ; — 
At once the myriad stars disclose; 
And in the east a glory glows 
Like that the red horizon shows 
Above the moon. 

But on the western mountain tops 
The moon, in new-born beauty, drops 

Her pale and slender ring; 
Still, like a phantom rising red 
O'er haunted valleys of the dead, 
I see the distant east dispread 

Its fiery wing. 

I know by thoughts, which, hke the skies. 
Grow darker as they slowly rise 

Above my burning heart. 
It is the hght the peasant views, 
Through nightly falling frost and dews, 
While Fancy paints in brighter hues 

The distant mart. 

Through shadowy hills and meadows brown 
Tiie calm Passaic reaches down 

Where the broad waters lie; — 



134 POEMS OF PLACES. 

From hillside homes what visions teem! 
The fruitless hope, ambitious dream. 
Go freighted downward with the stream. 
And yonder die ! 

And youths and maids with strange desires 
O'er quiet homes and village spires 

Behold the radiance grow; 
They see the lighted casements fine. 
The crowded halls of splendor shine. 
The gleaming jewels and the wine, 

But not the woe ! 

Take from yon flaunting flame the ray 
Which glows on heads untimely gray. 

On blasted heart and brain, — 
Trom rooms of death the watcher's lamp, 
Prom homes of toil, from hovels damp. 
And dens where Shame and Crime encamp 

With Want and Pain: — 

Prom vain bazaars and gilded halls, 
Where every misnamed pleasure palls. 

Remove the chandeliers ; 
Then mark the scanty, scattered rays. 
And think amid that dwindled blaze 
How few shall walk their happy ways 

And shed no tears! 

But now, when fade the fevered gleams. 
Some trouble melts away to dreams. 
Some pain to sweet repose ; — 



NEW YORK, THE CITY. 135 

And as tlie midniglit shadows sweep. 
Life's noisy torrent drops to sleep. 
Its unseen current dark and deep 
In silence flows. 

Thomas Buchanan Read. 



New York, the City, K Y. 

NIEUW AMSTERDAM. | 

i 

WHERE nowadays the Battery lies, ' 

New York had just begun, 
A new-born babe, to rub its eyes. 

In Sixteen Sixty-One. 
They christened it Nieuw Amsterdam, 

Those burghers grave and stately, 
And so, with schnapps and smoke and psalm, -i 

Lived out their lives sedately. ! 

Two windmills topped their wooden wall, l 

On Stadthuys gazing down, j 

On fort, and cabbage-plots, and all ] 

The quaintly gabled town; i 

These flapped their wings and shifted backs. 

As ancient scrolls determine. 
To scare the savage Hackeusacks, j 

Paumanks, and other vermin. 1 

At night the loyal settlers lay 
Betwixt their feather-beds; 



136 POEMS OF PLACES. 

In hose and breeches walked by day, 
And smoked, and wagged their heads. 

No changeful fashions came from France, 
The vrouwleins to bewilder; 

No broad-brimmed burgher spent for pants 
His every other guilder. 

In petticoats of linsey-red. 

And jackets neatly kept. 
The vi-ouws their knitting-needles sped 

And deftly spun and swept. 
Pew modern-school iirtations there 

Set wheels of scandal trundling, 
But youths and maidens did their share 

Of staid, old-fashioned bundhng. 
* * * 

Edmund Clarence Stedman, 



NEW YOEK HARBOK OX A CALM DAY. 

IS this a painting? Are those pictured clouds 
Which on the sky so movelessly repose ? 
Has some rare artist fashioned forth the shrouds 
Of yonder vessel ? Are these imaged shows 
Of outline, figure, form, or is there life — 
Life with a thousand pulses — in the scene 
We gaze upon ? Those towering banks between, 
E'er tossed these billows in tumultuous strife ? 
Billows ! there 's not a wave ! the waters spread 
One broad, unbroken mirror: all around 



NEW YORK, THE CITY. 137 

Is hushed to silence, — silence so profound. 
That a bird's carol, or an arrow sped 
Into the distance, would, Hke larum bell. 
Jar the deep stillness and dissolve the spell. 

Farh Benjamin. 



HYMN OF THE CITY. 

Not in the soUtude 
Alone may man commune with heaven, or see 

Only in savage wood 
And sumiy vale, the present Deity; 

Or only hear his voice 
Where the winds wliisper and the waves rejoice. 

Even here do I behold 
Thy steps, Almighty ! — here, amidst the crowd. 

Through the great city rolled. 
With everlastuig murmur deep and loud, — 

Choking the ways that wind 
'Mongst the proud piles, ^\q work of human kind. 

Thy golden sunshine comes 
Prom the round heaven, aud on their dwellings lies, 

And lights their inner homes ; 
Tor them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies, 

Aud givest them the stores 
Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores. 

Thy spirit is around, 
Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along; 
And this eternal sound, — 



138 POEMS OF PLACES. j 

"Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng, — J 

Like tlie resounding sea, 
Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee. 

And when the hours of rest 
Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine. 

Hushing its billowy breast, — ' 

The quiet of that moment too is thine; | 

It breathes of Him who keeps I 

The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. 'i 

William Cullen Bryant. \ 



SPEING IN TOWN. 

THE country ever has a lagging Spring, 
Waiting for May to call its violets forth. 
And June its roses, — showers and sunshine bring, 

Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth; 
To put their foliage out, the woods are slack, 
And one by one the singing-birds come back. 

Within the city's bounds the time of flowers 
Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day. 

Such as full often, for a few bright hours, 
Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May, 

Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom — 

And lo ! our borders glow with sudden bloom. 

For the wide sidewalks of Broadway are then 
Gorgeous as are a rivulet's banks in June, 

That overhung with blossoms, through its glen, 
Slides soft away beneath the sunny noon. 



NEW YORK, THE CITY. 139 

And they who search tlie untrodden wood for flowers 
Meet in its depths no loveHer ones than ours. 

For here are eyes that shame the violet, 

Or the dark drop that on the pansy lies, 
And foreheads, white, as when in clusters set. 

The anemones by forest fountains rise; 
And the spring-beauty boasts no tenderer streak 
Than the soft red on many a youthful cheek. 

* * * 

Soft voices and light laughter wake the street. 

Like notes of woodbirds, and where'er the eye 
Threads the long way, plumes wave, and twinkling feet 

Fall light, as hastes that crowd of beauty by. 
The ostrich, hurrying o'er the desert space, 
Scarce bore those tossing plumes with fleeter pace. 

No swimming Juno-gait, of languor born. 
Is theirs, but a light step of freest grace, 

Light as Camilla's o'er the unbent com, — 
A step that speaks the spirit of the place. 

Since Quiet, meek old dame, was driven away 

To Sing-Sing and the shores of Tappan bay. 
* * * 

William C alien Bryant. 



THE CITY OF SHIPS. 

CITY of ships ! 
(0 the black ships ! the flerce ships ! 
the beautiful, sharp-bowed steam-ships and sail-ships !) 
City of the world ! (for all races arc here ; 



140 POEMS or PLACES. 

All the lands of tlie earth make contributions here ;) 

City of the sea ! city of hurried and glittering tides ! 

City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, 
whirUng in and out, with eddies and foam ! 

City of wharves and stores ! city of tall fa9ades of mar- 
ble and iron ! 

Proud and passionate city ! mettlesome, mad, extrava- 
gant city! 

WaU Whitman. 



NEW YORK. 

BUT see ! the broadening river deeper flows. 
Its tribute floods intent to reach the sea, 
"While, from the west, the fading sunlight throws 
Its softening hues on stream, and field, and tree ; 
All silent nature bathing, wondrously, 
In charms that soothe the heart with sweet desires, 
And thoughts of friends we ne'er again may see. 
Till lo ! ahead, Manhatta's bristling spires. 
Above her thousand roofs red with day's dying fires. 

May greet the wanderer of Columbia's shore, 
Proud Venice of the west ! no lovelier scene. 
Of thy vast throngs now faintly comes the roar. 
Though late hke beating ocean surf I ween, — 
And everywhere thy various barks are seen. 
Cleaving the limpid floods that round thee flow. 
Encircled by thy banks of sunny green, — 
The panting steamer plying to and fro. 
Or the tall sea-bound ship abroad on wings of snow. 

Theodore Sedgwick Tay. 



NEW YORK, THE CITY. 141 



UNSEEN SPIRITS. 

THE shadows lay along Broadway, — 
'T was near the twilight tide, — 
And slowly there a lady fair 
Was walking in her pride. 
Alone walked she ; but, viewlessly, 
Walked spirits at her side. 

Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, 

And Honor charmed the air. 
And all astir looked kind on her. 

And called her good as fair; 
For all God ever gave to her 

She kept with chary care. 

She kept with care her beauties rare 

From lovers warm and true ; 
For her heart was cold to all but gold, 

And the rich came not to woo : 
But honored well are charms to sell. 

If priests the selhng do. 

Now walking there was one more fair, — 

A slight girl, lily-pale ; 
And she had unseen company 

To make the spirit quail : 
*Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn, 

And nothing could avail. 

No mercy now can clear her brow 
Tor this world's peace to pray; 



143 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Tor, as love's mid prayer dissolved in air, 

Her woman's heart gave way ! 
But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven, 

By man is cursed alway. 

NatJia7iiel Farker Willis, 



BROADWAY. 

ON this day of brightest dawning, 
Underneath each spreading awning, 
Sheltered from the sun's fierce ray. 
Come, and let us saunter gay ly 
With the crowd whose footsteps, daily. 
Wear the sidewalks of Broadway. 

Leave the proof-sheets and the printer 
Till the duller days of winter, 

Till some dark December day; 
Better than your lucubrations 
Are the vivid inspirations 

You can gather in Broadway! 

Tell me not, in half-derision. 
Of your Boulevards Parisian, 

With their brilUant broad paves. 
Still for us the best is nearest, 
And the last love is the dearest, 

And the Queen of Streets — Broadway ! 

Here, beneath bewitching bonnets. 
Sparkle eyes to kindle sonnets. 
Charms, each worth a lyric lay ; 



NEW YORK, THE CITY. 143 

All ! what bright, untold romances 
Linger in the radiant glances 
Of the beauties of Broadway I 

All the fairer, that so fleeting 
Is the momentary meeting. 

That our footsteps may not stay; 
While, each passing form replacing. 
Swift the waves of life are chasing 

Down the channels of Broadway! 

Motley as the masqueraders 
Are the jostlmg promenaders, 

In their varied, strange display; 
Here an instant, only, blending, 
Whither are their footsteps tending 

As they hasten through Broadway ? 

Some to garrets and to cellai*s, | 

Crowded with unhappy dwellers ; j 

Some to mansions, rich and gay. 
Where the evening's mirth and pleasure j 

Shall be fuller, in their measure, j 

Than the turmoil of Broadway ! ' 

i 
Yet were once our mortal vision | 

Blest with quicker intuition, j 

We should shudder with dismay 
To behold what shapes are haunting J 

Some, who seem most gayly flaunting 

On the' sidewalks of Broadway ! , 



144 POEMS OF PLACES. 

For, beside the beggar cheerless. 
And the maiden gay and fearless. 

And the old man worn and gray, 
Swift and viewless, waiting never. 
Still the Fates are gliding ever, 

Stern and silent, through Broadway ! 

JFilliarn Allen Butler. 



THE BOWLING GREEN. 

IS this the Bowling Green? I should not know it, 
So disarrayed, defaced, and gone to seed. 
Like some un-Pegasused and prosy poet. 

Whose Helicon is now the bowl and weed; 
Its Green, if grass, does not precisely show it. 
So changed to worse from that once lovely mead. 

Not Time has done it only, Desecration 

Has with corrosive finger touched the place; 

The iron fence, its once proud decoration, 

The street, the mansions round, share the disgrace, — 

Now but the stepping-stone of every nation, 
The point of fusion for the human race. 

The houses once, long since, in evening's glory 
Shone with a tranquil beauty ; and on stoops 

Maidens would listen while the old, old story 
Beguiled the twilight ; and broad-skirted groups 

Displayed their sabres moderately gory, 

Displacing with good Dutch the Indians' Avhoops. 



NEW YORK, THE CITY. 145 

And ill my own day, later, I remember 

Those pleasant houses and their pleasant hosts, 
TVliere gleamed like topaz in the dying ember 

The old Madeira (then we drank to toasts). 
Ah me ! that June of life is now December, 

And all those smiling figures are but ghosts. 

Yon dingy alien, limping from his steamer; 

The eolorless, abandoned look of all; 
The broken flags, the fountain's silvery tremor; 

The homes for aye disprivacied, and the wall 
Cuirassed in gilded sign-boards, — pain the dreamer, 

And all his blissful memories appall. 

Ah ! 't was a dear old town, that lost Manhattan, 

With its green shores, whose islands still had trees ; 
And round them gleamed the sun-touched bay like satin, 

When the sun sank, and shut its wings the breeze. 
Oh ! why was it obliged to grow and fatten ? 

Those modest days in worth outvalued these. 

The visitor, I may say without flattery. 

Finds few, if anj-, ports to match the view 
(When the wind 's up, the walk is slightly spattery) 

Of bustling, white-winged craft and laughing blue, j 

Which fixes him enchanted on the Battery, — 

So full of life, forever fresh and new. 

If, as a boy I did, I make my haunt in 

Dear Castle Garden, soon I find a check 
In two policemen, who, my courage daunting, 

Stand sentinels beside that piteous wreck. 



146 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And point to signs ; I read, giir (Smi^rantett, 
And just beyond I see an emptying deck. 

In the far future, haply, the town completed, 

That foreign wave no more shall strike the shore. 

And the boys then shall frolic there as we did, 
And maidens flower-like bloom beside the door, 

And happy people shall behold repeated 
Such a Manhattan as we loved of yore. 

Thomas Gold Aj^pleton. 



ON THE PIER. 

DOWN at the end of the long dark street, 
Years, years ago, 
I sat with my sweetheart on the pier, 
Watching the river flow. 

The moon was climbing the sky that night. 

White as the "^inter's snow : 
We kissed in its light, and swore to be true, — 

But that was years ago! 

Once more I walk in the dark old street. 

Wearily to and fro : 
But I sit no more on the desolate pier 

Watching the river flow. 

Richard Henry Stoddard. 




" The moon was climbing the sky that night." See page 1-16. 



NEW YORK, THE CITY. 147 

THE FERRY-BOAT. 

WRECKS of clouds of a sombre gray. 
Like the ribbed remains of a mastodon. 
Were piled in masses along the west, ] 

And a streak of red stretched over the sun. 

I stood on the deck of the ferry-boat. 

As the summer evening deepened to night; j 

Wliere the tides of the river ran darkling past, J 

Through lengthening pillars of crinkled light. 1 

1 
The wind blew over the land and the waves 

With its salt sea-breath, and a spicy balm. 

And it seemed to cool my throbbing brain. 

And lend my spirit its gusty calm. 

The forest of masts, the dark-hulled ships, \ 

The twinkling lights, and the sea of men, — 1 

I read the riddle of each and all, | 

And I knew their inner meanine; then. i 

i 
For while the beautiful moon arose, 

And drifted the boat in her yellow beams. 
My soul went down the river of thought, 
That flows in the mystic land of dreams ! 

Richard Henry Stoddard. 



148 POEMS OF PLACES. 

HEADQUARTEES OF WASHINGTON, 

WHEN NEW YORK WAS EVACUATED BY CLINTON. 

IT is a structure of tlie olden time, 
Built to endure, not dazzle for a day : 
A stain is on the venerable roof, 
Telling of conflict with the King of Storms ; 
And clings to casement worn and hanging eaves. 
With thread-like roots, the moss. 

Gray shutters swing 
On rusted hinges, but the beams of day 
Dart with a softening radiance through the bars. 
Colossal domes of chiselled marble made. 
Religion's fanes, with gUttering golden spires. 
And Mammon's airy and embellished halls, 
Wearing a modern freshness, are in sight; 
But a cold glance they win from me alone. 

Why do I turn from Art's triumphant works 
To look on pile more humble? Why in thought 
Linger around this ancient edifice ? 
The place is hallowed, — Washington once trod, 
Planning the fall of tyranny, these floors. 
Within yon chamber did he bend the knee, 
Calhng on God to aid the patriot's cause, 
At morn and in the solemn hour of night. 
His mandate, pregnant with a nation's fate, 
Went forth from these plain, unpretending walls. 
Here towered in warlike garb his stately form. 
While marshalled thousands in the dusty street 



NEW YORK, THE CITY. 149 

Gave ear to his liarangue, and inly vowed 
To die or conquer with their matchless chief. 
Mcthinks at you old window I behold 
His calm majestic features, while the sound 
Of blessing rises from the throng below. 
Have not the scenes of other days returned ? 
Do I not hear the sentry's measured tramp. 
Clangor of mail and neigh of battle-steed. 
Mingling tlieir discord Avith the drum's deep roll ? 
No ! 't was a dream ! — the magic of a place, 
Alhed to memory of earth's noblest son, 
Gives form and seeming life to viewless air. 
* * * 

IFilliam Henry Cui/ler Ilosmer. 



PAN IN WALL STREET. 

JUST where the Treasury's marble front 
Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations; 
Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont 

To throng for trade and last quotations ; 
Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold 

Outrival, in the ears of people, 
The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled 
From Trinity's undaunted steeple, — 

Even there I heard a strange, wild strain 
Sound high above the modern clamor. 

Above the cries of greed and gain. 

The curbstone war, the auction's hammer; 



130 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And swift, on Music's misty ways, 
It led, from all this strife for millions. 

To ancient, sweet-do-notliing days 
Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians. 

And as it stilled the multitude. 

And yet more joyous rose, and shriller, 
I saw the minstrel, where he stood 

At ease against a Doric pillar : 
One hand a droning organ played. 

The other held a Pan's-pipe (fashioned 
Like those of old) to lips that made 

The reeds give out that strain impassioned. 

'T was Pan himself had wandered here 

A-strolling through this sordid city, 
And piping to the civic ear 

The prelude of some pastoral ditty ! 
The demigod had crossed the seas, — 

Prom haunts of shepherd, nymph, and satyr, 
And Syracusan times, — to these 

Par shores and twenty centuries later. 

A ragged cap was on his head ; 

But — hidden thus — there was no doubting 
That, all with crispy locks o'erspread. 

His gnarled horns were somewhere sproutin 
His club-feet, cased in rusty shoes. 

Were crossed, as on some frieze you see them, 
And trousers, patched of divers hues. 

Concealed his crooked shanks beneath them. 



NEW YORK, THE CITY. 151 

He filled the quivering reeds with sound, 

And o'er his mouth their changes shifted. 
And with his gOcat's-eyes looked around 

Where'er the passing current drifted ; 
And soon, as on Trinacriau hills 

The nymphs and herdsmen ran to hear him, 
Even now the tradesmen from their tills, 

With clerks and porters, crowded near him. 



heart of Natiu-e, beating still 

With throbs her vernal passion taught her, — 
Even here, as on the vine-clad hill, 

Or by the Arcthusan water ! 
New forms may fold the speech, new lands 

Arise within these ocean-portals. 
But Music waves eternal wands, — 

Enchantress of the souls of mortals ! 

So thouglit I, — but among us trod 

A man in blue, with legal baton. 
And scoffed the vagrant demigod, 

And pushed him from the step I sat on. 
Doubting I mused upon the cry, 

" Great Pan is dead ! " — and all the people 
Went on their ways : — and clear and high 

The quarter sounded from the steeple. 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



152 POEMS OF PLACES. 



Niagara, the Biver. \ 

THE FALLS OF NIAGARA. ' 

THE thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain, 
While I look upward to thee. It would seem ; 

As if God poured thee from his hollow hand, 
And hung his bow upon thine awful front; 
And spoke in that loud voice, which seemed to him | 

Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake, j 

The sound of many waters ; and had bade 
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back. 

And notch His centuries in the eternal rocks. j 

I 
Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we, .] 

That hear the question of that voice sublime? \ 

Oh, what are all the notes that ever rung | 

From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side ? 
Yea, what is all the riot man can make ' ' 

In his short life, to thy unceasing roar? 
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him 
Who drowned a world, and heaped the waters far 
Above its loftiest mountains ? — a light wave, 
That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might. 

Jolm Gardner Calkins Bminard. 



NIAGARA, THE RIVER. 153 



NIAGARA. 



mREMENDOUS torrent ! for an instant hush 

J- The terrors of thy voice, and cast aside 

Those wide-involving shadows, that my eyes 

May see the fearful beauty of thy face ! 

I am not all unworthy of thy sight; 

For from my very boyhood have I loved, 

Shunning the meaner track of common minds, 

To look on Nature in her loftier moods. 

At the fierce rushing of the hurricane, 

At the near bursting of the thunderbolt, 

I have been touched with joy ; and when tlie sea, 

Lashed by the wind, hath rocked my bark, and showed 

Its yawning caves beneath me, I have loved 

Its dangers and the wrath of elements. 

But never yet the madness of the sea 

Hath moved me as thy grandeur moves me now. 

Thou flowest on in quiet, till thy waves 
Grow broken midst the rocks; thy current then 
Shoots onward like the irresistible course 
Of Destiny. Ah, terribly they rage, — 
The hoarse and rapid whirlpools tlierc ! My brain 
Grows wild, my senses wander, as I gaze 
Upon the hurrying waters ; and my sight 
Vainly would follow, as toward the verge 
Sweeps the wide torrent. Waves innumerable 
Meet there and madden, — waves innumerable 
Urge on and overtake the waves before. 
And disappear in thunder and m foam. 



154 POEMS or PLACES. 

They reach, they leap the barrier, — the abyss 
Swallows insatiable the sinking waves. 
A thousand rainbows arch them, and the woods 
Are deafened with the roar. The violent shock 
Shatters to vapor the descending sheets. 
A cloudy whirlwind fills the gulf, and heaves 
The mighty pyramid of circling mist 
To heaven. The solitary hunter near 
Pauses with terror in the forest shades. 

What seeks my restless eye? Why are not here, 
About the jaws of this abyss, the palms, — 
Ah, the delicious palms, — that on the plains 
Of my own native Cuba spring and spread 
Their thickly foliaged summits to the sun. 
And, in the breathings of the ocean air. 
Wave soft beneath the heaven's unspotted blue? 

But no, Niagara, — thy forest pines 
Are fitter coronal for thee. The palm, 
The effeminate myrtle, and frail rose may grow 
In gardens, and give out their fragrance there. 
Unmanning him who breathes it. Thine it is 
To do a nobler office. Generous minds 
Behold thee, and are moved, and learn to rise 
Above earth's frivolous pleasures; they partake 
Thy grandeur, at the utterance of thy name. 
* * * 

Jose Maria Ileredia. Tr. Anomjmoi , 



NIAGARA, THE RIVEE. IBB 



NIAGARA FALLS. j 

THERE 's nothing great or bright, thou glorious Eall ! ] 

Thou mayest not to the fancy's sense recall. 1 

Tlie thunder-riven cloud, the lightning's leap, \ 

The stirring of the chambers of the deep; 1 

Earth's emerald green, and many tinted dyes. j 

The fleecy whiteness of the upper skies; '' 

The tread of armies thickening as they come, . ] 

The boom of cannon and the beat of drum; - 

Tlie brow of beauty and the form of grace, ■ 

The passion and the prowess of our race; I 

The song of Homer in its loftiest hour, i 

The unresisted sweep of human power; j 

Britannia's trident on the azure sea, i 

America's young shout of Liberty ! j 

Oh ! may the waves which madden in thy deep I 

There spend tlieir rage nor climb the encircling steep ; i 
And till the conflict of thy surges cease 
The nations on tliy banks repose in peace. 

Lord Morpeth. 



H 



NIAGARA. 

AS aught like this descended, since the fountains 
Of tlic Great Deep broke up, in cararacts hurled, 
And chmbing lofty liills, eternal mountains, 
Poured wave on wave above a buried world ? 

Yon tides are raging, as when storms have striven. 
And the vexed seas, awaking from their sleep. 



156 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Are roiigli with foam, and Neptune's flocks are driven 
In myriads o'er the green and azure deep. 

Ere yet they fall, mark (where that mighty current 
Comes like an army from its mountain home) 

How fiercely yon wild steeds amid the torrent, 

With their dark flanks, and manes and crests of foam, 

Speed to their doom — yet in the awful centre, 
Where the wild waves rush madliest to the steep, 

Just ere that white unfathomed gulf they enter, 
Rear back in horror from the headlong leap. 

Then, maddening, plunge — a thousand more succeeding 
Sweep onward, troop on troop, again to urge 

The same fierce flight, as rapid and unheeding — 
Again to pause in terror on the verge. 

* * * 

Oft to an eye half closed, as if in solving 
Some mighty, mystic problem — half it seems 

Like some vast crystal wheel, ever revolving, 

Whose motion, earth's — whose axle, earth's extremes. 

We gaze and gaze, half lost in dreamy pleasure. 
On all that slow majestic wave reveals. 

While Fancy idly, vainly strives to measure 
How vast the cavern which its veil conceals. 

* * * 
Whence come ye, O wild waters? by what scenes 

Of Majesty and Beauty have ye flowed. 
In the wide continent that intervenes, 
Ere yet ye mingle in this common road? 



NIAGARA, THE RIVER. 15? 

I 

The Mountain King, upon his rocky throne, 

Laves his broad feet amid your rushing streams. 
And many a vale of h)venncss unknown , 

Is softly mirrored in their crystal gleams. 

They come — from haunts a thousand leagues away, 

From ancient mounds, with deserts wide between, , 

Cliffs, whose tall summits catch the parting day, 

And prairies blooming in eternal green ; ! 

Yet the briglit valley, and the flower-ht meadow, 

And the drear waste, of wilderness, all past — 
Like that strange Life, of which thou art the shadow, ] 

Must take tlie inevitable plunge at last. 

"Whither we know not — but above the wave 

A gentle, wliite-robed spirit sorrowing stands, 
Type of the rising from that darker grave. 

Which waits the wanderer from Life's weary lands. 

How long these wondrous forms, these colors splendid, j 

Their glory o'er the wilderness have thrown ! | 

How long that mighty anthem has ascended | 

To Him who wakened its eternal tone ! | 

i 

That everlasting utterance tliou slialt raise, I 

A thousand ages ended, still the same, 
Wlien this poor heart, that fain would add its praise, 

Has mouldered to the nothing whence it came ; 

When the white dwellings of man's busy brood, 
Now reared in myriads o'er the peopled plain. 



158 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Like snows liave vanished, and the ancient wood 
Shall echo to the eagle's shriek again. 

And all the restless crowds that now rejoice. 
And toil and traffic, in their eager moods, 

Shall pass, — and nothing save thine awful voice 
Shall break the hush of these vast solitudes. 

Henry Howard BrownelL 



NIAGAKA. 

I STOOD within a vision's spell; 
I saw, I heard. The liquid thunder 
Went pouring to its foaming hell. 
And it fell, 
Ever, ever fell 
Into the invisible abyss that opened under. 

I stood upon a speck of ground; 

Before me fell a stormy ocean. 

I was like a captive bound ; 

And around 

A universe of sound 

Troubled the heavens with ever-quivering motion. 

\ 

Down, down forever — down, down forever, i 
Something falling, falling, falling. 

Up, up forever — up, up forever, j 

Resting never, j 

Boiling up forever, ' 

Steam-clouds shot up with thunder-bursts appalling, i 



NIAGARA, THE RIVER. 159 

A tone thcat since the birth of man 
Was never for a moment broken, 
A word that since the world began, 
And waters ran, 
Hath spoken still to man, — 
Of God and of Eternity hath spoken. 
* * * 

And in that vision, as it passed. 

Was gathered terror, beauty, power; 
And still, when all has fled, too fast. 
And I at last 
Dream of the dreamy past. 
My heart is full when liugering on that hour. 

A)wnymous. 



NIAGARA. 

THOUGH the dusk has extinguished the green 
And the glow of the down-falling silver. 
In my heart I prefer this subdued. 
Cathedral-like gloom on the water : 
When the fancy capriciously wills. 
Nor loves to define or distinguish, 
As a dream which enchants us with fear ; 
And scarce throbs the heart unaffrighted. 

With a color and voice of its own 
I behold this wondrous creature 
Move as a living thing, 
And joyous with joy Titanic. 
Its brothers in sandstone are locked. 
Yet from their graves speak to it. 



160 POEMS OF PLACES. 

It sings to tliem as it moves, 

Aiid the hills and uplands re-echo. 

The sunshine kindles its scales, 

And they gleam with opal and sapphire. 

It uplifts its tawny mane, 

With its undulations of silver. 

And tosses through showers of foam. 

Its flanks seamed with shadow and sunshine. 

Like the life of man is its course. 

Born far in some cloudy sierra. 

Dimpled and wayward and small, 

O'erleaped by the swerving roebuck; 

But enlarging with mighty growth, 

And wearing wide lakes for its bracelets, 

It moves, the king of streams. 

As man wears the crown of his manhood. 

It shouts to the loving fields. 

Which toss to it flowers and perfume ; 

It eddies and winds round its isles. 

And its kisses thrill them with rapture; 

Till it fights in its strength and o'ercomes 

The rocks which would bar its progress. 

The earth hears its cries of rage, 

As it tramples them in its rushing. 

Leaping, exultant above 

And smiting them in derision; 

Till at lengtli, its life fulfilled. 

Sublime in majestic calmness. 

It submits to death, and falls 

With a beauty it wins in dying, 

Still, wan, prone, till curtains of foam enclose it, 



NIAGARA, THE RIVER. 161 

To arise a spirit of mist, 

And return to the Heaven it came from. 

As deepens the night, all is changed, 

And the joy of my dream is extinguished: 

I hear but a measureless prayer, 

As of multitudes wailing in anguish; 

I see but one fluttering plunge, 

As if angels were falling from heaven. 

Indistinctly, at times, I behold 

Cuthullin and Ossian's old heroes 

Look at me with eyes sad with tears, 

And a summons to follow their flying, 

Absorbed in wild, eerie rout, 

Of wind-swept and desolate spectres. 

As deepens the night, a clear cry 

At times cleaves the boom of the waters; 

Comes with it a terrible sense 

Of suflbring extreme and forever. 

The beautiful rainbow is dead. 

And gone are the birds which sang through it. 

The incense so mounting is now 

A stifling, sulphurous vapor. 

The abyss is the hell of the lost. 

Hopeless falling to fires everlasting. 

Thomas Gold Appleton. 

NIAGARA. 

FLOW on forever, in thy glorious robe 
Of terror and of beauty. Yea, flow on 
Uufathonied and resistless. God hath set 



163 POEMS OF PLACES. 

His rainbow on thy foreliead; and tlie cloud 
Mantled around tliy feet. And lie doth give 
Thy voice of thunder power to speak of Him 
Eternally, — bidding the lip of man 
Keep silence, — and upon thy rocky altar pour 
Incense of awe-struck praise. 

Ah ! w^ho can dare 
To lift the insect-trump of earthly hope, 
Or love, or sorrow, mid the peal sublime 
Of thy tremendous hymn? Even Ocean shrinks 
Back from thy brotherhood, and all his waves 
Retire abashed. For he doth sometimes seem 
To sleep like a spent laborer, and recall 
His wearied billows from their vexing play. 
And lull them to a cradle calm; but thou, 
With everlasting, undecaying tide. 
Dost rest not, night or day. The morning stars. 
When first they sang o'er young creation's birth, 
Heard thy deep anthem ; and those wrecking fires, 
That wait the archangel's signal to dissolve- 
This solid eartli, shall find Jehovah's name 
Graven, as with a thousand diamond spears. 
On thine unending volume. 

Every leaf. 
That lifts itself within thy wide domain. 
Doth gstther greenness from thy living spray. 
Yet tremble at the baptism. Lo ! — yon birds 
Do boldly venture near, and bathe their wing 
Amid thy mist and foam. "T is meet for them 
To touch thy garment's hem, and lightly stir 
The snowy leaflets of thy vapor-wreath. 



NIAGARA, THE RIVER. 163 

For they may sport unliarmed amid the cloud, 
Or listen at the echoing gate of heaven. 
Without reproof. But as for us, it seems 
Scarce lawful, with our broken tones, to speak 
Famiharly of thee. Methinks, to tint 
Thy glorious features with our pencil's point, 
Or woo thee to the tablet of a song. 
Were profanation. 

Thou dost make the soul 
A wondering witness of thy majesty. 
But as it presses with delirious joy 
To pierce thy vestibule, dost chain its step, 
And tame its rapture with the humbling view 
Of its own nothingness, bidding it stand 
In the dread presence of the Invisible, 
As if to answer to its God through thee. 

Lydia Huntley Sigourney. 



AVERY. 

1853. 
I. 

ALL night long they heard in the houses beside the 
shore. 
Heard, or seemed to hear, through tiio multitudinous 

roar. 
Out of the hell of the rapids as 't were a lost soul's 

cries, — 
Heard and could not believe ; and the morning mocked 
their eyes. 



164 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Sliowing, wliere wildest aud fiercest tlie waters leaped 

up and ran 
Raving round him and past, tlie visage of a man 
Clinging, or seeming to cling, to the trunk of a tree 

that, caught 
Past in the rocks below, scarce out of the surges raught. 
Was it a life, could it be, to yon slender hope that 

clung ? 
Shrill, above all the tumult the answering terror rung. 



Under the weltering rapids a boat from the bridge is 

drowned, 
Over the rocks the lines of another are tangled and 

wound ; 
And the long, fateful hours of the morning have wasted 

soon. 
As it had been in some blessed trance, and now it is 

noon. 
Hurry, now with the raft ! But 0, build it strong 

and staunch. 
And to the lines and treacherous rocks look well as 

you launch ! 
Over the foamy tops of the waves, and their foam- 

sprent sides. 
Over the hidden reefs, and through the embattled 

tides, 
Onward rushes the raft, with many a lurch and leap, — 
Lord ! if it strike him loose, from the hold he scarce 

can keep ! 



NIAGARA, THE RIVER. 1G5 

No ! through all peril unharmed, it reaches him harm- 
less at last. 
And to its proven strength he lashes his weakness fast. 
Now, for the shore ! But steady, steady, my men, 

and slow ; 
Taut, now, the quivering lines; now slack; and so, let 

her go ! 
Thronging the shores around stand the pitying multi- 
tude ; 
Wan as his own are their looks, and a nightmare seems 

to brood 
Heavy upon them, aiid heavy the silence hangs on all. 
Save for the rapids' plunge, and the thunder of the fall. 
But on a sudden thrills from the people still and pale, 
Chorusing his unheard despair, a desperate wail : 
Caught on a lurking point of rock it sways and swings, 
Sport of the pitiless waters, the raft to which he chugs. 



III. 

All the long aftemoon it idly swings and sways ; 
And on the shore the crowd lifts up its hands and 

prays : 
Lifts to heaven and wrings the hands so helpless to 

save, 
Prays for the mercy of God on him whom the rock 

and the wave 
Battle for, fettered betwixt them, and who, amidst 

their strife. 
Struggles to help his helpers, and fights so hard for 

his life, — 



166 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Tugging at rope and at reef, while men weep and wo- 
men swoon. 
Priceless second by second, so wastes the afternoon, 
And it is sunset now ; and another boat and the last 
Down to him from the bridge through the rapids has 
safely passed. 

IV. 

Wild through the crowd comes flying a man that notli- 
ing can stay, 

Maddening against the gate that is locked athwart his 
way. 

" No ! we keep the bridge for them that can help him. 
You, 

Tell us, who are you ? " *' His brother ! " " God help 
you both! Pass through." 

Wild, with wide arms of imploring he calls aloud to 
him. 

Unto the face of his brother, scarce seen in the dis- 
tance dim ; 

But in the roar of the rapids his fluttering words are 
lost 

As in a wind of autumn the leaves of autumn are 
tossed. 

And from the bridge he sees his brother sever the rope 

Holding him to the raft, and rise secure in his hope; 

Sees all as in a dream the terrible pageantry, — 

Populous shores, the woods, the sky, the birds flying 
free ; 

Sees, then, the form, — that, spent with effort and fast- 
ing and fear, 



NIAGAEA, THE RIVER. 167 

Pliiigs itself feebly and fails of the boat tliat is lying 

so near, — 
Caught in the long-baffled clutch of the rapids, and 

rolled and hurled 
Headlong on to the cataract's brink, and out of the 

world. 

William Dean Iloioells. 



GOAT ISLAND. 

PEACE and perpetual quiet are around. 
Upon the erect and dusky file of stems. 
Sustaining yon far roof, expelling sound. 
Through which the sky sparkles (a rain of gems 
Lost in the forest's depth of shade), the sun 
At times doth shoot an arrow of pure gold, 
riecking majestic trunks with hues of dun, 
Yeining their barks with silver, and betraying 
Secret initials tied in true love knots ; 
Of hearts no longer through green alleys straying, 
But stifled in the world's distasteful grots. 
The silence is monastic, save in spots 
Where heaves a glimmer of uncertain light, 
And rich wild tones enchant the woodland night. 

Thomas Gold Ajyjjleton. 

THE CATARACT ISLE. 

I WANDERED through the ancient wood 
That crowns the cataract isle. 
I heard the roaring of the flood 
And saw its wild, fierce smile. 



168 POEMS or PLACES. 

Througli tall tree-tops the smisliine flecked 
The huge trunks and the ground, 

And the pomp of fullest summer decked 
The island all around. 

And winding paths led all along 
Wliere friends and lovers strayed, 

And voices rose with laugh and song 
From sheltered nooks of shade. 

Through opening forest vistas whirled 

The rapids' foamy flash, 
As they boiled along and plunged and swirled, 

And neared the last long dash. 

I crept to the island's outer verge. 
Where the grand, broad river fell, — 

Pell sheer down mid foam and surge 
In a white and blindins: hell. 



The steady rainbow gayly shone 1 

Above the precipice, j 
And the deep low tone of a thunder groan 

Rolled up from the drear abyss. i 

> 

And all the day sprang up the spray \ 

Where the broad white sheets were poured, ] 

And fell around in shoAvery play, 'i 

Or upward curled and soared. i 

And all the night those sheets of white ! 

Gleamed through the spectral mist, ' 

\ 

\ 

\ 



Norman's kill (tawasentiia). 169 

When o'er the isle the broad moonlight 
The wintry foam-flakes kissed. 

Mirrored within my dreamy thought, 

I see it, feel it all, — 
That island with sweet visions fraught, 

That awful waterfall. 

With sunflecked trees, and birds and flowers, 

The Isle of Life is fair; 
But one deep voice thrills through its hours, 

One spectral form is there, — 

A power no mortal can resist. 

Rolling forever on, — 
A floating cloud, a shadowy mist, 



Eternal undertone. I 



And through the sunny vistas gleam 

The fate, the solemn smile. 
Life is Niagara's rushing stream ; 

Its dreams — that peaceful isle ! 

Christopher Pearse Cranch. 



Norman's Kill [Tawasentiia), N, Y. 

THE FALLS OF NORMAN'S KILL. 

A DAY in Indian Summer : here, the sky 
Shows a bright veil of silver; there, a shade 
Of soft and misty purple, with the fleece 



170 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Of dowiiy clouds, and azure streaks between. 

The light falls meekly, and the wooing air 

Eans with a brisk vitality the frame. 

The woods have lost the briglit and varied charm 

Of magic Autumn, and tlie faded leaves 

Hide with one robe of brown the earth that late 

Glowed like the fabled gardens of the East. 

Still all around is lovely. Ear the eye 

Pierces the naked woods, and marks the shades. 

Like prone black pillars with their capitals, 

Eormed by the sprays ; and rocks, ravines, and mounds 

(Hiddei; when Summer smiles), and sparkling rills. 

Trickling o'er mossy stones. 

A low, stern tone 
Rumbles upon the air, as, winding down 
The gullied road, I seek the gorge where flows 
The stream to mingle with the river flood 
In the brief eastward distance. On my left 
Are the brown waters, a high rocky isle 
Like a huge platform midway; and the steep 
Tree-columned ridge, in summer dense with shades. 
Bat ragged now with gaunt and leafless boughs. 
And only green where stand the kingly pines 
And princely hemlocks. On my right the bank. 
Of slate and crumbling gravel, pitches down 
Now sheer, now hollowed out, the dark blue clay 
Showing its strata veins, while on the edge, 
High up and dwarfed by distance, cling tall trees. 
A rocky rampart, seamed and dashed with white, 
Is piled before me, and the bending sky 
Close at its back. Advancing, with the sound 



Norman's kill (tawasentiia). 171 

Louder and louder, waters leap and gush 
And foam through channelled outlets; dasliiug now 
O'er terraces, now flinging o'er a rock 
A shiftiug fringe of silver, shooting quick 
Through some deep gully, like a glassy dart. 
And now in one rich mass of glittering foam 
Sent downward, with light particles of spray 
In white smoke rising. 

Like the puny wrath 
Of the weak child, to manhood's passion-burst 
When his fierce heart is flaming; like the voice 
Of the low west-wind, to the mighty sweep 
Of the roused northern storm-blast, art thou now, 
rushing stream ! to when the roaring rains 
Have swelled thy fountains, and with thundering shocks, 
Foaming and leaping, thou dost dash along, 
Hestrainless in thy awful force, to rend 
And whirl and Avhclm, until a mightier wave 
Swallows thy raging being. Bridge and tree, 
Torn into fragments, roll and plunge and toss. 
Till those that now might look on thee and smile, 
Turn grave and tremble. 

* * * 

Alfred Billings Street. 

TAWASENTHA. 

IN the Yale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley. 
By the pleasant water-courses, 
Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. 



172 POEMS OF PLACES. ' 

Round about the Indian village i 
Spread the meadows and the corn-fields. 

And beyond them stood the forest, ' 

Stood the groves of singing pine-trees, ' 
Green in summer, vi^hito in winter. 

Ever sighing, ever singing. [ 

And the pleasant water-courses, \ 

You could trace them through the valley, ; 

By the rushing in the spring-time, ; 

By the alders in the summer, \ 

By the white fog in the autumn, - \ 
By the black line in the winter; 
And beside them dwelt the singer. 

In the vale of Tawasentha, i 

In the green and silent valley. 1 
Hemy Wadsworth Longfelloio. 



THE FOEEST CEMETERY. 

WILD Tawasentha ! in thy brook-laced glen 
The doe no longer lists her lost fawn's bleating. 
As panting there, escaped from hunter's ken, 

She hears the chase o'er distant hills retreating; 
No more, uprising from the fern around her. 

The Indian archer, from his " still-hunt " lair, 
Wings the death-shaft which hath that moment found 
her 
"When Eate seemed foiled upon her footsteps there. 

Wild Tawasentha ! on thy cone-strewed sod. 
O'er which yon pine his giant arm is bending, 



t 



kokman's kill (tawasentiia). 173 

No more the Moluiwk marks its dark crown nod 
Against the sun's broad disk toward night descending, 

Then crouching down beside the brands that redden 
The cohimned trunks whicli rear thy leafy dome, 

Forgets his toils in hunter's slumbers leaden, 
Or visions of the red man's spirit home: 

But where his calumet by that lone fire. 

At uiglit beneatli these cloistered boughs was lighted. 
The Cliristian orphan will in prayer aspire, 

The Cliristian parent mourn his proud hope blighted ; 
And in thy shade the mother's heart will listen 

The spirit-cry of babe she clasps no more. 
And where thy rills through hemlock-branches glisten, 

There many a maid her lover will deplore. 

Here children linked in love and sport together. 

Who check their mirth as creaks the slow hearse by. 
Will totter lonely in life's autumn weather, 

To ponder where life's spring-time blossoms lie; 
And where the virgin soil was never dinted 

By the rude plouglishare since creation's birtli^' 
Year after year fresh furrows will be printed 

Upon the sad cheek of the grieving Earth. 

Yon sun, returning in unwearied stages. 

Will gild the cenotapli's ascending spire. 
O'er names on history's yet unwritten pages 

That unburn crowds will, w^orshipping, admire ; 
Names that shall In-ighten through my country's story 

Like meteor hues that fire her autumn woods, 



174 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Encircling high lier onward course of glory 

Like the bright bow which spans her mountain-floods. 

Here where the flowers have bloomed and died for 
ages, — 

Bloomed all unseen and perished all unsung, — 
On youth's green grave, traced out beside the sage's, 

Will garlands now by votive hearts be flung ; 
A.nd sculptured marble and funereal urn, 

O'er which gray birches to the night air wave. 
Will whiten through thy glades at every turn, 

And woo the moonbeam to some poet's grave ! 

Thus back to Nature, faithful, do we come. 

When Art hath taught us all her best beguiling, 
Thus blend their ministry around the tomb 

T\liere, pointing upward, still sits Nature smiling 1 
And never. Nature's hallowed spots adorning, 

Hath Art, with her a sombre garden dressed. 
Wild Tawasentha ! in this vale of mourning 

With more to consecrate their children's rest. 

And still that stream will hold its winsome way. 

Sparkling as now upon the frosty air. 
When all in turn shall troop in pale array 

To that dim land for which so few prepare. 
Still will yon oak, which now a sapling waves. 

Each year renewed, with hardy vigor grow. 
Expanding still to shade the nameless graves 

Of nameless men that haply sleep below. 
* * * 

Charles Tenno Hoffman, 



* ONTARIO, THE LAKE. 175 

Ontario, the Lake, N, Y, 

LAKE ONTARIO. 

DEEP thoughts o'crshnde my spirit while I gaze 
Upon the blue depths of thy mighty breast; 
Thy glassy face is bright with sunset rays, 
And thy far-stretching waters are at rest, 
Save the small wave that on thy margin plays, 

Lifting to summer airs its flashing crest : 
While the fleet hues across thy surface driven, 
Mingle afar in the embrace of heaven. 

Thy smile is glorious when the morning's spring 
Gives half its glowing beauty to the deep ; 

When the dusk swallow dips his drooping wing, 
And the gay winds that o'er thy bosom sweep 

Tribute from dewy woods and violets bring, 
Thy restless billows in their gifts to steep. 

Thou 'rt beautiful when evening moonbeams shine. 

And the soft hour of night and stars is thine. 

Thou hast thy tempests, too ; the lightning's home 
Is near thee, though unseen; thy peaceful shore. 

When storms have lashed these waters into foam. 
Echoes full oft the pealing thunder's roar. 

Thou hast dark trophies : the unhonored tomb 
Of those now sought and wept on earth no more : 

EuU many a goodly form, the loved and brave. 

Lies whelmed and still beneath thy sullen wave. 



176 POEMS OF PLACES. « 

The world was young with thee : this swelling flood 
As proudly swelled, as purely met the sky. 

When sound of life roused not the ancient wood. 
Save the wild eagle's scream, or panther's cry. 

Here on this verdant bank the savage stood, 
And shook his dart and battle-axe on high, 

While hues of slaughter tinged thy billows blue. 

As deeper and more close the conflict grew. 

Here, too, at early morn, the hunter's song 
Was heard from wooded isle and grassy glade ; 

And here, at eve, these clustered bowers among, 
The low, sweet carol of the Indian maid. 

Chiding the slumbering breeze and shadows long, 
That kept her lingering lover from the shade, 

While, scarcely seen, thy willing waters o'er. 

Sped the light bark that bore him to the shore. 

Those scenes are past. The spirit of changing years 
Has breathed on all around, save thee alone. 

More faintly the receding woodland hears 
Thy voice, once full and joyless as its own. 

Nations have gone from earth, nor trace appears 
To tell their tale, — forgotten or unknown. 

Yet here, unchanged, untamed, thy waters lie, 

Azm-e, and clear, and boundless as the sky. 

Elizabeth F. Ellett. 



ONTARIO, THE LAKE. ]77 



LAKE ONTARIO. 



THE moon goes ligbtly up her thronging way, 
And shadowy things are brightening into day; 
And cliff and shrub and bank and tree and stone 
Now move upon the eye, and now are gone. 
A dazzling tapestry is hung around, 
A gorgeous carpeting bestrews the ground ; 
The willows glitter in the passing beam, 
And shake their tangling lustres o'er the stream; 
And all the full rich foliage of the shore 
Seems with a quick enchantment frosted o'er. 
And dances at the faintest breath of night, 
And trembles like a plume of spangles in the hght ! 

This dark cool wave is bluer than the deep. 
Where sailors, children of the tempest, sleep; 
And dropped with lights as pure, as still, as those 
The wide-drawn hangings of the skies disclose. 
Far lovelier than the dim and broken ray. 
That Ocean's flashing surges send astray. 

This is the mirror of dim Solitude, 
On which unholy things may ne'er intrude; 
That frowns and ruffles when the clouds appear, 
Refusing to reflect their shapes of fear. 
Ontario's deeps are spread to multiply 
But sunshine, stars, the moon, and clear-blue sky. 

No pirate barque was ever seen to ride. 
With blood-red streamer, chasing o'er that tide; 
Till late, no bugle o'er those waters sang 
With aught but huntsman's orisons, that rang 



178 POEMS OP PLACES. 

Their clear, exulting, bold, triumpliant strain. 
Till all the mountain echoes laughed again; 
Till caverns, depths, and hills would all reply. 
And heaven's blue dome ring out the sprightly melody. 

Jolm Neal. 



Oriskany, N, Y, 

BATTLE OF OEISKANY. 

AS men who fight for home and child and wife. 
As men oblivious of hfe 
In holy martyrdom. 
The yeomen of the Yalley fought that day. 
Throughout thy fierce and deadly fray, — 
Blood-red Oriskany. 

From rock and tree and clump of twisted brush 
The hissing gusts of battle rush, — 

Hot-breathed and horrible ! 
The roar, the smoke, like mist on stormy seas, 
Sweep through thy splintered trees, — ■ 

Hard-fought Oriskany, 

Heroes are born in such a chosen hour ; 
From common men they rise, and tower. 

Like thee, brave Herkimer ! 
Who wounded, steedless, still beside the beech 
Cheered on thy men, with sword and speech, 

In grim Oriskany. 




' Haunted Lake, among the pine-clad mountains." See page 179 



OTSEGO, THE LAKE. 179 

But ere the sun went toward tlie tardy night, 
The Valley tlicn beheld the light 

Of freedom's victory ; 
And wooded Tryon snatched from British arms 
The empire of a million farms — 

On bright Oriskany. 

The guns of Stanwix thunder to the skies; 
The rescued wilderness replies ; 

Forth dash the garrison ! 
And routed Tories, with their savage aids, 
Sink reddening through the sullied shades — 

From lost Oriskany. 

Charles D. Hebner. 



Otsego, the Lake, N. Y, 

OTSEGO LAKE. 

HAUNTED lake, from out whose silver fountains 
The mighty Susquehanna takes its rise ; 
O haunted lake, among the pine-clad mountains, 
Forever smiling upward to the skies, — 

Thrice blest art thou in every curling wavelet, 

In every floating water-lily sweet, — 
From the old Lion at thy northern boundary. 

To fair Mount Vision sleeping at thy feet. 

A master's hand hath painted all thy beauties ; 
A master's mind hath peopled all thy shore 



180 POEMS OF PLACES. 

With wraiths of mighty hunters and fair maidens, 
Hauntnig thy forest glades forevermore. 

A master's heart hath gilded all thy valley 
With golden splendor from a loving breast; 

And in thy little churchyard, 'neath tlie pine-trees, 
A master's body sleeps in quiet rest. 

haunted lake, guard well thy sacred story, — 
Guard well the memory of that honored name ! 

Guard well the graA'e that gives thee all thy glory 
And raises thee to long-enduring fame. 

Anoni/mous. 



Passaic, the River, N. J. 

THE FALLS OF THE PASSAIC. 

IN a wild, tranquil vale, fringed with forests of green. 
Where nature had fashioned a soft, sylvan scene. 
The retreat of the ring-dove, the haunt of the deer, 
Passaic in silence rolled gentle and clear. 

No grandeur of prospect astonished the sight. 
No abruptness sublime mingled awe with dehght ; 
Here the wild floweret blossomed, the elm proudly 

waved. 
And pure was the current the green bank that laved. 

But the spirit that ruled o'er the thick tangled wood, 
And deep in its gloom fixed his murky abode. 



PASSAIC, THE RIVER. 181 

Who loved the wild scene that the whirlwinds deform, 
And gloried in thunder and lightning and storm; 

All flushed from the tumult of battle he came, 
Where the red men encountered the children of flame, 
While the noise of the war-whoop still rang in his ears, 
And the fresh bleeding scalp as a trophy he bears : 

With a glance of disgust, he the landscape surveyed. 
With its fragrant wild-flowers, its wide waving shade ; 
Where Passaic meanders through margins of green. 
So transparent its waters, its surface serene. 

He rived the green hills, the wild woods he laid low ; 
He taught the pure stream in rough channels to flow ; 
He rent the rude rock, the steep precipice gave. 
And hurled down the chasm the thundering wave. 

Countless moons have since rolled in the long lapse 

of time, 
Cultivation has softened those features sublime ; 
The axe of the white man has lightened the shade. 
And dispelled the deep gloom of the thicketed glade. 

But the stranger still gazes, with wondering eye, 
On the rocks rudely torn, and groves mounted on high ; 
Still loves on the cliff's dizzy borders to roam, 
Where the torrent leaps headlong, embosomed in foam. 

Washingto)i Irving. 



182 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Perkiomen, the Biver, Pa. 

THE PERKIOMEN. 

HERE, in times long gone, October bright 
In sombre forests set her glory -hght; 
Where village street leads o'er the bridge's span, 
Among brown hills and peaceful meadows ran 
The Perkiomen singing all the day. 

Tor well-tilled fields gave back an hundred fold, 
And well-filled barns could scarce their treasure hold. 
The orchards bending 'neath the weight they bore 
Cast down their golden fruit npon the shore 
Of Perkiomen singing all the day. 

There came a change ; the leaves npon the wood 
Burned brighter with a color as of blood. 
The waving Northern Lights, the camp-fire's glow 
Seemed from the heights a tinge of blood to throw 
On Perkiomen at the close of day. 

At morn a host marched proudly to the fight, 
And some returned their camp-fires to relight, 
And some to hear awhile the waters flow. 
Then ears grew dull in coming death, and low 
The Perkiomen sang on that dread day. 

And prayers in many distant homes were said 
By hearts that ne'er again were comforted. 
While here the soldier saw in dreams again 





PERKIOMEN THE RIVER See page 1S3. 



PHILxVDELPillA. 183 

Home scenes made vivid by the sad refrain 
Of Perkiomen singing all the day. 

Yet mid the gloom and doubt the living learned 
How still defeat to victory might be turned. 
Until the cannon thundered from the hill 
A conquest's tale, and glad below tlie mill 
The Perkiomen sang on that great day. 

But nature soon forgets : that camp is lost. 
She hides the graves of all that armed host; 
On the same site now stands another mill. 
Another miller leans on the white sill 
To hear the Perkiomen sing to-day. 

Let not our hearts forget. Lo ! Time makes plain 
How from the sacrifice has grown our gain ; 
Here orchards bloom ; each year its harvest brings. 
And clearer still of peace and plenty sings 
The Perkiomen all the autumn day, 
* * * 

Isaac R. Fennypacker. 



Philadelphia, Pa, 

PHILADELPHIA. 

IN that delightful land which is washed by the Dela- 
ware's waters, 
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the 
apostle, 



184 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream tlie city be 

founded. 
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem 

of beauty, 
And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of 

the forest. 
As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts 

they molested. 
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, 

an exile, 
rinding among the children of Penn a home and a 

country. 
There old Rene Leblanc had died; and when he de- 
parted, 
Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. 
Something at least there was in the friendly streets of 

the city, 
Something that spake to her heart, and made her no 

longer a stranger ; 
And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of 

the Quakers, 

"For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country. 

Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and 

sisters. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow^ 



PHILADELPHIA. 185 



THE MESCHIANZA. 

" The Meschianza was chiefly a tilt and tournament, with other enter- 
tainments, as the term implies, and was given on Monday, the I8lh of 
May, 1778, at Wharton's country-seat, in Soutliwark, by the officers of 
General Howe's army, to that officer on his quitting the command to 
return to England." — Watson. 

OCITY, the beloved of Penii, 
How was your quiet startled wlien 
Red Mars made your calm harbor glow 
With all the splendors he eaii show ! 

How looked your tranquil founder down 
That day upon his cherished town, — 
That town which in the sylvan wild 
He reared and tended like a child ? 

Mcthinks that patriarch and his peers, 
Who fashioned all your staid retreats, 
Groaned then in their celestial seats 

With sad offended eyes and ears; 

And, had their loving faith allowed. 

That day, in mournful spirit bowed. 

Each had turned his olive-wand 

Into a rod of reprimand. 

The May was there, — the blue-eyed May ; 
The sweet south breeze came up the bay, 
Panning the river where it lay 
Voiceless, with astonished stare, — 
The great sea-drinking Delaware. 



186 POEMS OF PLACES. 

There, in tlie broad, clear afternoon, 
With myriad oars, and all in tune, 

A swarm of barges moved away. 
In all their grand regatta pride. 
As bright as in a blue lagune, 
Wlien gondolas from shore to shore 
Swam round the golden Bucentaur 

On a Venetian holiday, 
What time the Doge threw in the tide 
The ring which made the sea his bride. 

Mid these were mighty platforms drawn. 
Each crowded like a festal lawn, — 
Great swimming floors, o'er which were rolled 
Cloth of scarlet, green, and gold, 
Like tropic isles of flowery light 
Unmoored by some enchanter's might, 
O'erflowed with music, floated down 
Before the wharf-assembled town. 

A thousand rowers rocked and sung, 
A thousand light oars flashed and flung 
A fairy rainbow where they sprung. 
Conjoining with the singers' voice, 

In ecstatic rival trial. 
Every instrument of choice. 

Mellow flute and silver viol, 
Wooed the soft air to rejoice ; 
Till on wings of splendor met. 
Clearer, louder, wilder yet. 
Clarion and clarionet. 



PHILADELPHIA. 187 

And the bugle's sailing tone, 
As from lips of tempests blown, 
Made the whole wide sky its own, 
Shivering with its festal jar 
The aerial dome afar. 

Tims the music past the town 
Winged the swimming pageant down, 
Till with one loud crash it dropt, 
And the bright flotilla stopt, 
IMooriug in the bannered port 
At the flowery wharves of Sport. 

There wide triumphal arches flamed 
With painted trophies, which proclaimed. 
With mottoes wrought in many a line 
Around some brave heraldic sign, 
That all the splendors here displayed 
Were honors to great chieftains paid. 

Pavilions round the field were spread. 
With flying banners overhead, 
Wliere, on a high and central throne. 
The two commanders reigned alone: 
The admiral, whose powdered hair 
Had oft been fanned by ocean air; 
The general, whose eye oft sped 
O'er fields transfused from green to red. 
As if the very plain should wear 
The hue his army held so dear, — 
Both deeming that the world must bow- 
Before the awful name of Howe. 



188 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And tliere, — O feast for painter's heart, 

And yet a light to mock his art, 

To kindle all a poet's fire, 

To waken, madden, and inspire. 

Yet leave him mastered and undone. 

As faints a taper in the sun, — 

Yes, there, in many a beaming row. 

Was lit such beauty as might glow 

Alone in fabled tourney-rings 

Held in those far enchanted scenes 
Where all are princesses and queens 

And all the jousting knights are kings. 
» * * 

Thomas Buchanan Read. 



BATTLE OF THE KEGS. 

Certain machines in the form of kegs, charged -with gunpowder, were 
sent down the river to annoy the Britisii shipping then at Philadelphia. 
The danger of these machines being discovered, the British manned the 
wharves and shipping, and discharged their small arms and cannon at 
any thing they saw floating in the river during the ebb tide. 

GALLANTS, attend, and hear a friend 
Trill forth harmonious ditty ; 
Strange things I '11 tell, which late befell. 
In Philadelphia city. 

'T was early day, as poets say. 

Just when the sun was rising, 
A soldier stood, on a log of wood. 

And saw a thing surprising. 



PHILADELPHIA. 189 

As in amaze be stood to gaze. 

The truth can't be denied, sir. 
He spied a score of kegs or more 

Come floating down the tide, sir. 

A sailor, too, in jerkin bhie, 

This strange appearance viewing, 

First damned his eyes, in great surprise. 
Then said, " Some mischief 's brewing. 

"These kegs, I'm tokl, the rebels hold, 

Packed up like pickled herring, 
And they 're come down, to attack the town. 

In this new way of ferrying." 

The soldier flew, the sailor too. 

And, scared almost to death, sir. 

Wore out their shoes to spread the news. 
And ran till out of breath, sir. 

Kow up and down, throughout the town, 

Most frantic scenes were acted ; 
And some ran here, and others there. 

Like men almost distracted. 

Some fire cried, which some denied. 

But said the earth had quaked ; 
And girls and boys, with hideous noise, 

Ean through the streets half naked. 



From sleep Sir William starts upright. 
Awaked by such a clatter; 



190 POEMS OF PLACES. 

He rubs his eyes, and boldly cries, 

"For God's sake, what 's the matter?" 

At his bedside, he then espied, 
Sir Erskine at command, sir. 

Upon one foot he had one boot. 
And t' other in his hand, sir. 

" Arise ! arise," Sir Erskine cries, 

"The rebels, — more 's the pity, — 

Without a boat, are all afloat. 
And ranged before the city. 

"The motley crew, in vessels new. 
With Satan for their guide, sir. 

Packed up in bags or wooden kegs. 
Come driving down the tide, sir. 

"Therefore prepare for bloody war; 

These kegs must all be routed. 
Or surely we despised shall be. 

And British courage doubted." 

The royal band now ready stand. 
All ranged in dread array, sir. 

With stomachs stout, to see it out. 
And make a bloody day, sir. 

The cannons roar from shore to shore. 
The small arms make a rattle ; 

Since wars began, I 'm sure no man 
Ere saw so strange a battle. 



PHILADELPHIA. 191 

The rebel dales, the rebel vales, 

With rebel trees surrounded, 
The distant woods, the hills and floods, 

With rebel echoes sounded. 

The fish below swam to and fro. 

Attacked from every quarter; 
Why sure, thouglit they, the devil's to pay, 

'Mongst folks above tlie water. 

The kegs, 't is said, though strongly made 

Of rebel staves and hoops, sir. 
Could not oppose their powerful foes. 

The conquering British troops, sir. 

From morn till night, tliese men of might 

Displayed amazing courage; 
And when the sun was fairly down. 

Retired to sup their porridge. 

An hundred men, with each a pen, 

Or more, upon my woi"d, sir. 
It is most true would be too few. 

Their valor to record, sir. 

Such feats did they perform that day, 

Against those wicked kegs, sir. 
That years to come, if they get home. 

They'll make their boasts and brags, sir. 

Francis HojjhHSOH. 



192 POEMS OF PLACES. 



THE LITTLE BLACK-EYED EEBEL. 

The name of " the little black-eyed rebel " was Mary Redmond. She 
was the daughter of a patriot who lived in Philadelphia at the time it was 
occupied by the British troops. In that city, and at the above-mentioned 
time, the incident told in the poem took place. 

A BOY drove into the city, his wagon loaded down 
With food to feed the people of the British-gov- 
erned town ; 
And the little black-eyed rebel, so innocent and sly, 
Was watching for his coming from the corner of her 
eye. 

His face looked broad and honest, his hands were brown 

and tough. 
The clothes he wore upon him were homespun, coarse, 

and rough ; 
But one there was who watched him, who long time 

lingered nigh. 
And cast at him sweet glances from the corner of her 

eye. 

He drove up to the market, he waited in the line; 
His apples and potatoes were fresh and fair and fine ; 
But long and long he waited, and no one came to buy. 
Save the black-eyed rebel, watching from the corner 
of her eye. 

"Now who will buy my apples ? " he shouted long and 

loud; 
And " Who wants my potatoes ? " he repeated to the 

croM d ; 



PHILADELPHIA. 193 

But from all the people round him came uo word of 

a reply, 
Save the black-eyed rebel, answering from the corner 

of her eye. 

For she knew that 'neath the lining of the coat he 

wore that day 
Were long letters from the husbands and the fathers 

far away, 
Who were fighting for the freedom tliat they meant 

to gain or die ; 
And a tear like silver glistened in the corner of her eye. 

But the treasures, — how to get them ? crept the ques- 
tion through her mind, 

Since keen enemies were watching for what prizes they 
might find : 

And she paused awhile and pondered, witli a pretty 
little sigh; 

Then resolve crept through her features, and a shrewd- 
ness fired her eye. 

So she resolutely walked up to the wagon old and red ; 
"May I have a dozen apples for a kiss? " she sweetly 

said: 
And the brown face flushed to scarlet ; for the boy was 

somewhat shy, 
And he saw her laughing at him from the corner of 

her eye. 

"You may have them all for nothing, and more, if you 

want," quoth he. 
"I will have them, my good fellow, but can pay for 

them," said she ; 



194 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And slie clambered on the wagon, minding not who all 

were by, 
With a laugh of reckless romping in the corner of her 

eye. 

Clinging ronnd his brawny neck, she clasped her fingers 

white and small, 
And then whispered, " Quick ! the letters ! thrust them 

imdemeath my shawl ! 
Carry back again this package, and be sure that you 

are spry ! " 
And she sweetly smiled upon him from the corner of 

her eye. 

Loud the motley crowd were laughing at the strange, 

ungirlish freak. 
And the boy was , scared and panting, and so dashed 

he could not speak ; 
And " Miss, I have good apples," a bolder lad did cry ; 
But she answered, " No, I thank you/' from the corner 

of her eye. 

With the news of loved ones absent to the dear friends 

they would greet, 
Searching them wlio hungered for them, swift she 

glided through the street. 
"There is nothing worth the doing that it does not 

pay to try," 
Thought the little black-eyed rebel, with a twinkle in 

her eye. 

Anonymous. 



PHILADELPHIA. 195 

PEWTER PLATTER ALLEY. 

TIKOM Clirist-Clmrcli graves, across the waj, 
A A dismal, horrid place is found, 
Where rushing winds exert their sway, 
And Greenland winter chills the ground: 
No blossoms there are seen to bloom, 
No sun pervades the dreary gloom! 

The people of that stormy ])lace 
In penance for some ancient crime 
Are held in a too narrow space, 
Like those beyond the bounds of time, 
Who, darkened still, perceive no day. 
While seasons waste and moons decay. 

Cold as the shade that wraps them round, 

This icy region prompts our fear ; 

And he who treads this frozen ground 

ShaD curse the chance that brought him here, — 

The slippery mass predicts his fate, 

A broken arm, a wounded pate. 

Wiiew August sheds his sultry beam, 
May Celia never find this place, 
Nor see, upon the clouded stream. 
The fading summer in her face ; 
And may I ne'er discover there 
The gray that mingles with my hair. 

The watchman sad, whose drowsy call 
Proclaims the hour forever lied, 



196 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Avoids this path to Pluto's hall; 
For who would wish to wake the dead ! — 
Still let them sleep, — it is no crime, — 
They pay no tax to know the time. 

No coaches hence, in gUttering pride. 

Convey their freight to take the air ; 

No gods nor heroes here reside, 

Nor powdered bean, nor lady fair, — 

All, all to warmer regions flee, 

And leave these glooms to Towne and me. 

Philip Freneau. 

LAUREL HILL. 

In this cemetery are deposited the mortal remains of Joseph C. Neal, 
over whose last resting-place a beautiful and emblematic monument has 
been erected to his memory, by friends " who had loved him as a man 
and admired him as an author." 

TT7ITH chastened spirit wandering mid the graves, 

' ' I passed an hour afar from worldly sound. 
Where earthly care no longer Toil enslaves. 
Where silence only, and Death's types, abound. 

The soothing stillness of the summer air. 

The waving trees that shadowed sculptured stone. 

The unknown names of those who mouldered there, 
Subdued my soul Uke music's solemn tone. 

I marked the token that Aficction rears 
Above the buried dust so loved in life ; 

Where fragrant flowers, nursed by Sorrow's tears. 
Adorn the sod where rests a child or wife ; 



PHILADELPHIA. 197 

And paused a moment by a lonely spot. 
The unrecorded mound wherein may sleep 

Some nameless waif, whose unremembered lot 
Found naught to hope and left no friend to weep. 

How many minds unconqucred by their fate. 

How many brains that throbbed with feverish thought. 

How many wordless yearnings for the great. 

Have found beyond this bourn the goal they sought ! 

What garnered wisdom, what unwritten lore. 
What glowing visions, and what noble worth. 

Have shone unvalued, then dropped baek once more 
Like unset jewels into mines of earth ! 

Here stately monuments of graceful art 
Proclaim the virtues of the flattered dead : 

How oft an epitaph exalts a heart 

Whose deeds no lustre on its lifetime shed ! 

Yet here, apart, mid calm, sequestered glade, 
A pathway winds, by pilgrim homage worn. 

Where generous Love and Friendship's tasteful aid 
Have shrined the rehes whose repose they mourn. 

Rough from the quarry hewn, in shapeless grace 
The unpolished block of virgin marble stands. 

And forms the massive but unmodclled base 
Where chiselled urn admiring praise commands. 

Expressive symbol of the mind unwrought, 
Till Time to Labor's work perfection brings, 



198 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And kindred souls, fulfilling Nature's thought, 
Undying laurels carve where ivy clings. 

'T was minstrel's truest type, that needs no words, 
The stringless lyre leaning on thy grave ! 

Death early loosed thy spirit's "silver chords," 
And stilled the music that thy being gave. 

Yet Hope's proud dreams might ask no more of Fame 
Than such a triljute for an honored tomb, 

Where tears of grief bedew the cherished name. 
And glory spreads her bays of fadeless bloom ! 

Sallie Bridges. 



THE BURIAL-PLACE AT LAUREL HILL. 

HERE the lamented dead in dust shall lie. 
Life's lingering languors o'er, its labors done. 
Where waving boughs, betwixt the earth and sky. 
Admit the farewell radiance of the sun. 



Here the long concourse from the murmuring town, 
With funeral pace and slow, shall enter in. 

To lay the loved in tranquQ silence down, 
No more to sulfer, and no more to sin. 

And in this hallowed spot, where Nature showers 
Her summer smiles from fair and stainless skies, 

Affection's hand may strew her dewy flowers, 

Whose fragrant incense from the grave shall rise. 

And here the impressive stone, engraved with words 
Which grief sententious gives to marble pale. 



PHILADELPHIA. 199 

Shall teacli tlie heart ; vrhih waters, leaves, and birds 
Make cheerful music in the passing gale. 

Say, wherefore should we weep, and wherefore pour 
On scented airs the unavailing sigh — 

While sun-briglit waves are quivering to the shore, 
And landscapes blooming — that the loved must die? 

There is an emblem in this peaceful scene; 

Soon rainbow colors on the woods will fall, 
And autumn gusts bereave the hills of green^ 

As sinks the year to meet its cloudy pall. 

Then, cold and pale, in distant vistas round, 
Disrobed and tuneless, all the woods will stand. 

While the chained streams are silent as the ground, 
As Death had numbed them with his icy hand. 

Yet, when the warm, soft winds shall rise in spring. 
Like struggling daybcams o'er a blasted heath. 

The bird returned shall poise her golden wing, 
And liberal Nature break the spell of Death. 

So, when the tomb's dull silence finds an end. 
The blessed dead to endless youth shall rise, 

And hear the archangel's thrilling summons blend 
Its tone with anthems from the upper skies. 

There shall the good of earth be found at last. 
Where dazzling streams and vernal fields expand ; 

Where Love her crown attains, — her trials past, — 
And, filled with rapture, hails the " better land " ! 

Willis Gaylord Clark. 



200 POEMS OF PLACES. 



CHALKLEY HALL. 



HOW bland aud sweet the greeting of this breeze 
To him who flies 
Erom crowded street and red wall's weary gleam. 
Till far behind him like a hideous dream 
The close dark city lies ! 

Here, while the market murmurs, while men throng 

The marble floor 
Of Mammon's altar, from the crush and din 
Of the world's madness let me gather in 

My better thoughts once more. 

0, once again revive, while on my ear 

The cry of Gain 
And low hoarse hum of Traffic die away, 
Ye blessed memories of my early day 

Like sere grass wet with rain ! — 

Once more let God's green earth and sunset air 

Old feelings waken; 
Through weary years of toil and strife and ill, 
Oh, let me feel that my good angel still 

Hath not his trust forsaken. 

And well do time and place befit my mood : 

Beneath the arms 
Of this embracing wood, a good man made 
His home, like Abraham resting in the shade 

Of Mamre's lonely palms. 



PHILADELPHIA. 201 

Here, ricli with autumn gifts of countless years, 

The virgin soil 
Turned from the share he guided, and in rain 
And summer sunshine throve the fruits and grain 

Which blessed liis honest toil. 

Here, from his voyages on the stormy seas. 

Weary and worn. 
He came to meet his children and to bless 
The Giver of all good in thankfulness 

And praise for his return. 

And here his neighbors gathered in to greet 

Their friend again. 
Safe from the wave and the destroying gales, 
Which reap untimely green Bermuda's vales. 

And vex the Carib main. 

* * * 
Oh, far [iway beneath New England's sky. 

Even when a boy, 
Following my plough by Merrimac's green shore, 
His simple record I have pondered o'er 

With deep and quiet joy. 

And hence this scene, in sunset glory warm, — 

Its woods around, 
Its still stream winding on in light and shade. 
Its soft green meadows and its upland glade, — 

To me is holy ground. 

* * * 

John Greenleaf Whiitier. 



202 POEMS OF PLACES. 



THE CENTENNIAL, JULY 4, 1876. 

HERE stands the Nation's mighty Thought, 
With look and attitude sublime; 
Both her colossal arms stretched out, 
Seeking two equal bounds of time. 

One hand rests on the very day 

When Ereedom struggled from the womb; 
The other, groping on its way, 

Einds all this multitude a tomb ! 

The eyes of Thought, first backward cast. 
Send fiery pseans from their deep; 

But, searching all her country's past. 
Some great, immortal tears they weep. 

The eyes of Tiiought now onward tend. 
Peopling the far, white mystery 

With life that shall from ours descend. 
And treasure all our history. 

Here stands the Nation's mighty Thought! 

A hundred years behind, before, 
Her arm and eye have reached, and brought 

Wliat make us one forevermore. 

This centre of the Keystone State 
Locks many nations in its hold. 

And all the clashing notes of fate 
To harmony has Peace controlled. 



PITTSBURG. 203 

Great City of Eratcriial Love, 

How well the worlds have met m thee; 
So, whither all the nations move, 

God's Peace-built City let it be ! 

Charlotte Fiske Bates. 



Pittsburg, Pa, 

PITTSBURG. 

HERE lay dark Pittsburg, from whose site there 
broke 
The manufacturer's black and sparkling smoke. 
Where Industry and useful Science reigned, 
And man, by labor, all his wants sustained; 
There, mid the howling forest dark and drear. 
Roved the wild Indian, wilder than the deer, 
King of the woods, — who other blessings prized, 
And arts and industry alike despised: 
Hunting the trade, and war the sport he loved, 
Eree as the winds, the dauntless chieftain roved. 
Taunting, with bitter ire, the pale-faced slave, 
Who toils for gold from cradle to the grave. 
Extremes of habits, manners, time and space, 
Brought close together, here stood face to face. 
And gave at once a contrast to the view 
That other lands and ages never knew. 

James Kibble Paulding. 



204 POEMS or PLACES. 



Pocantico, the Biver, N. Y. 



THE POCANTICO. I 

WILD waters of Pocantico ! 

Stray rivulet of wood and glen ! ' 

Thy murmuring laughters, soft and low, | 
Elude the alien ears of men. 

O'er broader bosoms than thy own j 

The fleeting wings of commerce ghde; 
Hid in thy sylvan haunts alone 

The nymphs of fairy-land abide. 

The azure blue of summer's sky \ 

Scarce mirrors in thy crystal sheen; j 

The lover draws his tenderest sigh ' 

Ear in thy shadowy dells unseen. j 

] 

Along thy gently coursing stream . 

The huntsman, heedless, loves to roam; ' 

The poet dreams his fondest dream ] 

Within thy solitary home. ' 

Thou art well guarded by a host, ' 

Eor on thy sloping 'bankments stand 

Such gnarled sentinels as boast | 

A lineage aged as the land. 

No hardy woodman dare intrude ; 

To rob thee of thy ancient shade, I 




1 i 



POCANTICO, THE lllVER. 205 

Tliy miiiiic cliffs have long withstood 
The furrowing plough and vassal spade. 

The wild thrush wings its reedy note 
Through thy lone forest, liquid clear, 

"Whose answering echoes, far remote, 
rUug back a dim and plaintive cheer. 

No tone enslaved in silvery string 
Or sense-enrapturing voice is heard 

To match thy melodies, or sing 
A challenge to thy minstrel bird. 

Here sovereign Nature teaches rest ; 

The quiet mosses on the stone 
Weave o'er its silent, flinty breast 

An emerald softness all their o\mi. 

The pebbly sands along thy shore 

Lie mutely, lulled by babbling waves; 

The fringed fern and gentian flower 
On thy low margin, make their graves : 

And through thy valley's dusky shade 
In ceaseless murmurings, ages long. 

Shall mingle with the flowers that fade 
Thy endless infancy of song. 

O waters of PocantLeo ! 

Wild rivulet of wood and glen ! 
May thy glad laughters, sweet and low. 

Long, long outlive the sighs of men! 

S. H. Thayer, 



206 POEMS OF PLACES. 



Racket {Raquette), the River, N. Y. 

DOWN THE RACKET. 

DOWN the winding woodland river. 
Oh, how swift we glide ! 
Every tree and bush and blossom 

Mirrored in the tide; 
Bright and blue the heaven above us 

As — whose azure eye ! i 

Soft and sweet the wandering breezes \ 

As — whose gentle sigh ! 1 

"White the cloudlet wreathing o'er us 

As her spotless brow ! 

Oh, what king was e'er so joyous '. 

As we roamers now! ; 

Ho, ho, we merrily go j 

Down the winding, sparkling flow ! ] 

Down so cheerily, ' 

Never wearily, ' 

Ho, ho, we merrily go j 

Down to the lovely lake below! 

Mark the crane wide winnowing from us! ' 

Off the otter swims ! 
Round her fortress sails the fish-hawk ; 

Down the wood-duck skims ! 
Glitters rich the golden lily, 

Glows the Indian Plume, 



RED MILL, THE RIVER. 207 

On yon point a deer is drinking, 

Back he shrinks in gloom ; 
Now the Httlc sparkling rapid ! 

Now the fairy cove ! 
Here, the sunlight-mantled meadow ! 
There, the sprinkled grove ! 
Ho, ho, we merrily go 
Down the winding, glittering flow ! 
Down so cheerily ! 
Never wearily ! 
Ho, ho, we merrily go 
Down to the lovely lake below ! 

Alfred Billings Street. 



Bed Mill, the River, K Y. 

THE RED MILL FALL. 

WITH one bold spring, the little streamlet sinks 
Prostrate below, and slumbers still and pure. 
Holding its silver mirror to the sun 
And open sky. It rushes from its height, 
Like some bold warrior to the gladdening fray ; 
Then rests like that same warrior in repose. 
Smiling at victory won. When summer noon 
Makes earth and air all drowsy with its heat, 
Delicious is the rumble of the plunge 
Sounding its grateful coolness to the ear, 
And blending sweetly with the sighing tones 



208 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Born where tlie pine uplifts its dark blue spire, 

And with the humming, like a giant bee, 

The tall slim mill yields ever through the day. 

Noon's columned beams bring likewise out the hues 

That shift and quiver upon the headlong sheet; 

The emerald and the sapphire of its curve. 

The diamond tremble of its glancing drops. 

And all the tints that ghtter in the threads — 

Divided sunshine — of the opal bow 

Gleaming and dancing in the snowy foam 

Born at its tumbling foot. The afternoon 

Steeps it in pleasant shadow, with a ring 

Of radiance on the cedar's slender tip 

And mill's sharp roof, and moonlight makes the pitch 

One slope of silver. A dehcious spot ! 

And lovers wander here in summer hours. 

To gaze upon the scene, and, in the soft 

And glowing day-dreams given by Hope and Love, 

Muse on the things that meet their mingled sight. 

In the swift plunging stream the youth beholds 

The course of man, — his energy of will. 

His rush of action, turbulence of soul ; 

While sees the maiden in the pool below 

The life of woman, — gentle, sweet, and bright, 

Receiving to her bosom reckless man. 

Yet glassing in her crystal purity 

The stars and sunshine of the heaven above her. 

Alfred Billings Street. 



KOCKAWAY. 209 

Bockaicay, N. Y. 

ROCKAWAY. 

ON old Long Island's sea-girt shore. 
Many an hour I've whilcd away. 
In listening to the breakers' roar 
That wash the beach at Rockaway. 
Transfixed I 've stood while Nature's lyre 
In one harmonious concert broke. 
And catching its Promethean fire. 
My inmost soul to rapture woke. 
* * * 

To hear the startling night-winds sigh, 

As dreamy twilight lulls to sleep; 

While the pale moon reflects from high 

Her image in the miglity deep ; 

Majestic scene where Nature dwells. 

Profound in everlasting love. 

While her unmeasured music swells. 

The vaulted firmament above. 

Henry John Sharpe. 



Boshjiij N, Y. 

BRYANT'S BIRTHDAY, 1878. 

NOVEMBER lays our very losses bare, 
Stripping a shadowy solace with the leaf; 
The stark, reft branches sharply cut the air. 
Giving a naked poignancy to grief. 



210 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Yet, too, this thought with subtle comfort steals. 
No secret now between the earth and sky ! 

All open unto heaven the spirit feels, 

While gazing there with unobstructed eye. 

A year ago within the poet's home 

Unfelt the lateness of the Hfe and year ; 

Around him warm remembrance gave its bloom, 
While his fresh thought retained its summer cheer. 

In this dead birthday how revives the last ! 

Friends, gifts, and greetings, — ■ then he welcomed all ! 
Thinking how much his utterance in the past 

With deepest faith this absence could forestall, 

And count those present who had gone to God, 
We offer in our heart the old-time word. 

Nor lose the answer for the new-year's sod; 
In some sweet verse of his it still is heard. 

Charlotte Fiske Bates. 



Saranac, the Lakes, N, Y, 

THE LOWER SAMNAC. 

LIGHTLY flies my fleet bark across the glittering 
water, 
Sweetly talk the ripples before the furrowing prow, 
Mellow streams the sunset within the skirting forest, 
Mellow melts the west-wind in kisses on my brow. 



SARANAC, THE LAKES. 211 

Oh, this hfe is glorious, this life within the wildwood ! 

Ear, oh, far away flee the troubles of our lot ! 
Wide expands the bosom, a boyish heart is dancing. 

Dancing with the gladness o'erflowing every spot ! 

Dreamy like the past stands the distant blue Tahawhus ; 

Glcamy like the present old Moosehead rears his crest; 
Filmy like the future in front the bowery island ; 

Sparkling like our wishes the water's ripply breast. 

Look, a wandermg snowflake, the white gull in the 

distance ! 

Indian pink on pinions, the redbird's darting glow ! 

Upward leaps the trout, and afar the loon is floating, 

Dotting dark the sun-gleam, then flashing bright 

below. 

Turn the buoyant bark through the elm's cathedral arch- 
way ! 

Nestles cool the cove filled with babble of the brook. 
Sunny specks, and spice from the lily's pearly scallops ; 

So from glare of life hides some sweet domestic nook. 

Onward then again, for the sunset now has kindled 
Higher his grand camp-fire, and shines our tent before ! 

Crimson clouds are painting tlie purpled lake's enamel. 
Golden gauzes gleam in the glades along the shore. 

Onward, onward, thus do we press upon our journey, 
Moved by restless longing, Heaven calling us away ; 

Oh, may fading Hfe be illumined like the sunset. 
Beaming brighter, brighter, till darkness veils the day ! 

Alfred Billings Street. 



212 POEMS or PLACES. 



THE UPPER SAEANAC. 

WILD forest lake, thy waters spread 
A mirror for the welkin's bound ! 
Thy breezes glide with rippling tread; 
Thy linking brooks send tinkling sound, 

Down to thy wave the fish-hawk swoops; 

The wood-duck floats within thy bays ; 
Its trunks the water-maple groups 

Along thy banks of leafy maze. 

The gull darts by, a flash of snow; 

Deep from thy brink green pictures gleam ; 
The loon shouts o'er, and shoots below; 

The soft haze folds thee in a dream. 

The lily lifts its creamy cup 

In thy broad shallows, amber clear; 

And there the thatch shoots bristling up. 
And there steals down the drinking deer. 

On thy bright breast each fairy isle 

Strews its rock-vase, with foliage brimmed; 

And from thee grandly, pile on pile. 

Soar the steep crags with thunders rimmed. 

In thy smooth glades the camp-fire flames; 

The hunter's light boat tracks thy wave; 
Thy ooze in caves the muskrat frames; 

The otter in thee loves to lave. 



SARATOGA. 213 

Wild forest lake ! oli, would my home. 
My happy home, were reared by thee ! 

Theuce would my full heart uever roam, 
rrom care and trouble ever free. 

Alfred Billings Street. 



Saratoga, N. Y. 

THE FIELD OF THE GROUNDED AEMS. 

STRANGERS ! your eyes are on that valley fixed 
Intently, as we gaze on vacancy. 
When the mind's wings o'erspread 
The spirit-world of dreams. 

True, 't is a scene of loveliness, — the bright 
Green dwelling of the summer's first-born Hours, 

Whose wakened leaf and bud 

Are welcoming the morn. 

And morn returns the welcome, sun and cloud 
Smile on the green earth from their home in heaven. 

Even as a mother smiles 

Above her cradled boy. 

And wi'eathe their light and shade o'er plain and moun- 
tain. 
O'er sleepless seas of grass whose waves arc flowers. 

The river's golden shores, 

The forests of dark pines. 



214 POEMS OF PLACES. 

The song of the wild bird is on the wind, 
The hum of the wild bee, the music wild 

Of waves upon the bank. 

Of leaves upon the bough. 

But all is song and beauty in the land. 
Beneath her skies of June ; then journey on, 

A thousand scenes like this 

Will greet you ere the eve. 

Ye linger yet, — ye see not, hear not now. 
The sunny smile, the music of to-day, 

Your thoughts are wandering up, 

Par up the stream of time; 

And boyhood's lore and fireside-listened tales 
Are rushing on your memories, as ye breathe 

That valley's storied name. 

Yield, of the Grounded Arms. 

Strangers no more, a kindred "pride of place," 
Pride in the gift of country and of name. 

Speaks in your eye and step, — 

Ye tread your native land. 

And your high thouglits are on her glory's day. 
The solemn sabbath of the week of battle. 

Whose tempests bowed to earth 

Her foeman's banner here. 

The forest leaves lay scattered cold and dead, 
Upon the withered grass that autumn morn. 



SARATOGA, THE LAKE. 215 

When, with as withered hearts 
Aud hopes as dead and cold, 

A gallant army formed their last array 
Upon that field, in silence and deep gloom. 

And at their conqueror's feet 

Laid their war-weapons down. 

Sullen and stern, disarmed but not dishonored ; 
Brave men, but brave in vain, they yielded there : 

The soldier's trial task 

Is not alone "to die." 

Honor to chivalry ! the conqueror's breath 

St^s not the ermine of his foeman's fame. 

Nor mocks his captive's doom, — 

The bitterest cup of war. 

* * * 

Titz-Greene Ilalleck. 



Saratoga, the Lake, N, Y, 

LAKE SAEATOGA. 

A LADY stands beside the silver lake. 
"What," said the Mohawk, "wouldst thou have 
me do ? " 
"Across the water, sir, be pleased to take 
Me aud my children in thy bark canoe." 

"Ah!" said the Chief, "thou knowest not, I think, 
The Icsrend of the lake, — hast ever heard 



216 POEMS OF PLACES. 

That in its wave tlie stoutest boat will sink. 
If any passenger shall speak a \rord ? " 

"EuU well we know the Indian's strange beHef," 
The lady answered, with a civil smile ; 

"But take us o'er the water, mighty Chief; 
In rigid silence we wUl sit the while." 

Thus they embarked, but ere the little boat 
Was half across the lake, the woman gave 

Her tongue its wonted play, — but still they float. 
And pass in safety o'er the utmost wave ! 

Safe on the shore, the warrior looked amazed, 
Despite the stoic calmness of his race ; 

No word he spoke, but long the Indian gazed 
In moody silence in the woman's face. 

" Wliat think you now ? " the lady gayly said ; 

" Safely to land your frail canoe is brouglit ! 
No harm, you see, has touched a single head ! 

So superstition ever comes to naught!" 

Smiling, the Mohawk said, " Our safety shows 
That God is merciful to old and young; 

Thanks unto the Great Spirit ! — well he knows 
The pale-faced woman cannot hold her tongue ! " 

Jo/m Godfrey Saxe. 



w 



SCIIOIIAllIE. 217 

Schoharie, N. Y. 

THE SABBATH EVENING WALK. 

E sat tiU evening sank upon tlie vale 
With dewy shadows soft; the mountain-tops 
With clear sharp outline gleaming still in light. 
And at our feet, meadow, and waving grain. 
And orchards clustering round the viUage roof. 
Our seat was in the shadow of a grove 
Of fir-trees and taH pines, amid whose boughs. 
Heavy with dew, the deUcate-fingered wind 
Played mournful airs. Anon from out the vale 
Came various sounds commingled, pleasing all; 
W^atch-dog and lowing herd, and children's laugh, 
And vesper song of some belated bird. 
Once, too, the village beU awoke; a peal 
Solemn, yet soothing, deep and silvery tones, 
Floating in liquid cadence on the wind. 
And mingling with the music of the pines. 
And this was once thy home ; famihar all 
To thy dear eyes these scenes so new to mine. 
Yon dewy valley with its Sabbath smile, 
Yon fir-clad mountains girding it around. 
And yonder village with its single street. 
Beheld thy joyous girlhood, and the growth 
Of that pure spirit whose sweet ministry 
Hath taught my world-worn heart to trust again. 
Ah ! how mysteriously the threads of life 
Are woven. In the simshme of those days. 



218 POEMS OF PLACES. 

No revelation came to tell thy heart 

Tor whom its stores of love were ripening; 

Nor mid the shadows that encompassed me 

Had even one faint sunbeam pierced ! and now, 

Hand within hand, and heart on heart reposing, 

My sadder nature drawing light from thee. 

And tempering the buoyancy of thine. 

We stand, and bless together this sweet vale, 

And treasure up for memory's dearest page 

Our Sabbath evening's walk beneath the pines. 

George Washington Greene. 



Seneca, the Lake, N, Y, ] 

TO SENECA LAKE. \ 

ON thy fair bosom, silver lake. 

The wild swan spreads his snowy sail, J 

And round his breast the ripples break ! 

As down he bears before the gale. j 

On thy fair bosom, waveless stream. 

The dipping paddle echoes far, i 

And flashes in the moonlight gleam, ' 

And bright reflects the polar star. 

The waves along thy pebbly shore. 

As blows the north-wind, heave their foam, 
And curl around the dashing oar, ; 

As late the boatman hies him home. \ 



SENECA, THE LAKE. 219 

How sweet, at set of sun, to view 
Thy golden mirror spreading wide. 

And see the mist of mantling blue 

rioat round the distant mountain's side. 

At midnight hour, as shines the moon, 

A sheet of silver spreads below. 
And swift she cuts, at higliest noon. 

Light elouds, like wreaths of purest snow. 

On thy fair bosom, silver lake. 

Oh, I eould ever sweep the oar, 
When early birds at morning wake. 

And evening tells us toil is o'er! 

James Gates Percival. 



SENECA LAKE. 

ONE evening in the pleasant month of May, 
On a green hilloek swelling from the shore 
Above thy emerald wave, when the clear west 
Was all one sheet of light, I sat me down. 
Wearied, yet happy. I had wandered long. 
That bright, fair day; and all the way my path 
Was tended by a warm and soothing air. 
That breathed like bliss ; and round me all the woods 
Opened their yellow buds, and every cottage 
Was bowered in blossoms, for the orchard trees 
Were all in flower. I came, at close of day, 
Down to thy brink, and it was pleasure there 
To bathe my dripping forehead in thy cool, 



220 POEMS OF PLACES, 

Transparent waters. I refreshed me long 

With the bright sparkling stream, and from the pebbles, 

That bedded all thy margin, singled ont 

Rare casts of unknown shells, from off thy clifFs 

Broken by wintry surges. Thou wert calm, 

Even as an infant calm, that gentle evening; 

And one could hardly dream thou 'dst ever met 

And wrestled with the storm. A breath of air. 

Felt only in its coolness, from the west 

Stole over thee, and stirred thy golden mirror 

Into long waves, that only showed themselves 

In ripples on thy shore, — far distant ripples. 

Breaking the silence with their quiet kisses. 

And softly murmuring peace. Up the green hillock 

I mounted languidly, and at the summit 

On the new grass reposed, and saw that evening 

Fade sweetly over thee. 

Far to the south 
Thy slumbering waters floated, one long sheet " 
Of burnished gold, — between thy nearer shores 
Softly embraced, and melting distantly 
Into a yellow haze, embosomed low 
Mid shadowy hills and misty mountains, all 
Covered with showery light, as with a veil 
Of airy gauze. Beautiful were thy shores, 
And manifold their outlines, here up-sweUing 
In bossy green, — there hung in slaty cUffs, 
Black as if hewn from jet, and overtopped 
With the dark cedar's tufts, or new-leaved birch. 
Bright as the wave below. How glassy clear 
The far expanse ! Beneath it all the sky 



SENECA, THE LAKE. 221 

Swelled dowmvard, and its fleecy clouds were gay 

With all their rainbow fringes, and the trees 

And cliffs and grassy knolls were all repeated 

Along the uncertain shores, — so clearly seen 

Beneath the invisible transparency, 

That laud and water mingled, and the one 

Seemed melting in the other. Oh, how soft 

Yon mountain's heavenly blue, and all o'erlaid 

With a pale tint of roses ! Deep between 

The ever-narrowing lake, just faintly marked 

By its reflected light, and farther on 

Buried in vapory foam, as if a surf 

Heaved on its utmost shore. How deep the silence ! 

Only the rustling boughs, the broken ripple. 

The cricket and the tree-frog, with the tinkle 

Of bells in fold and pasture, or a voice 

Heard from a distant farm, or hollow bay 

Of home-returning hound, — a virgin land 

Just rescued from the wilderness, still showings 

Wrecks of the giant forest, yet all bright 

With a luxuriant culture, springing wheat, 

And meadows richly green, — the blessed gift 

Of Hberty and law. I gazed upon them, 

And on the unchanging lake, and felt awhile 

Unutterable joy, — I loved my land 

With more than filial love, — it was a joy # 

That only spake in tears. 

With early dawn 
I woke, and found the lake was up before me, 
For a fresh, stirring breeze came from the south, 
And all its deep-grceu waves were tossed and mingled 



223 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Into a war of foam. The new-risen sun 

Slione on tliem, as if they were worlds of stars. 

Or gems, or crystals, or some other thing 

Sparry and flashing bright. A gentle murmur, 

A roar scarce uttered, like a voice of mirth 

Amid tlie dancing waters, blended well 

With the seolian whispering of boughs 

In a wide grove of pines. The fields and woods 

Were sparkling all with dew, and curling smoke 

Rose from the cottage fires ; — the robin, too. 

And the brown thrush, and other birds concealed 

Amid the half-blown thickets, joyously 

Poured out their morning songs, and thus attended, 

I wandered by the shore. Oh, it was pleasant 

To feel the dashing of the dewy spray 

Rain on my forehead, and to look between 

Long crests of foam, into an unknown depth 

Of deepest green, and then to see that green 

Soft changing into snow. Over this waste 

Of roUing surges, on a lofty bank. 

With a broad surf beneath it, brightly shone 

White roofs and spires, and gilded vanes, and windows. 

Each like a flame, — thy peaceful tenements, 

Geneva, aptly named; for not the walls 

By the blue, arrowy Rhone, nor Leman's lake, 

With all its vineyard shores and mouldering castles. 

Nor even its shaggy mountains, nor above 

Its world of Alpine snows, — these are not more 

Than thou, bright Seneca, whether at peace, 

As I at evening met thee, or this morning. 

Tossed into foam. Thou, too, shalt have thy fame: 



SHELTER ISLAND. 223 

Genius shall make thy hills his home, and here 

Shall build his airy visions, — bards shall come, 

And fondly sing thee, — pilgrims too shall haunt 

Thy sacred waters, and in after ages, 

Oh, may some votary on the hillock sit, 

At evening, by thy shore ! 

Gates Percivod, 



Shelter Island, N. Y. 

MY NATIVE ISLE. 

MY native isle ! my native isle ! 
Forever round thy sunny steep 
The low waves curl, with sparkling foam, 

And solemn murmurs deep; 
While o'er the surging waters blue 

The ceaseless breezes throng, 
And in the grand old woods awake 
An everlasting song. 

The sordid strife and petty cares 

That crowd the city's street. 
The rush, the race, the storm of Life, 

Upon thee never meet; 
But quiet and contented hearts 

Their daily tasks fulfil, 
And meet with simple hoi)e and trust 

The coming good or ill. 



POEMS OF PLACES. 

The spireless cliurch stands, plain and brown. 

The winding road beside ; 
The green graves rise in silence near. 

With moss-grown tablets wide ; 
And early on the Sabbath morn. 

Along the flowery sod. 
Unfettered souls, with humble prayer. 

Go up to worship God. 

And dearer far than sculptured fane 

Is that gray church to me, 
For in its shade my mother sleeps. 

Beneath the willow-tree; 
And often, when my heart is raised 

By sermon and by song, 
Her friendly smile appears to me 

Trom the seraphic throng. 

The sunset glow, the moonlit stream. 

Part of my being are; 
The fairy flowers that bloom and die. 

The skies so clear and far : 
The stars that circle Night's dark brow. 

The winds and waters free. 
Each with a lesson all its own, 

Are monitors to me. 

The systems in their endless march 

Eternal truth proclaim; 
The flowers God's love from day to day 

In gentlest accents name; 
The skies for burdened hearts and faint 

A code of Eaith prepare; 



SHREWSBURY. 225 

What tempest ever left the Heaven 
Without a blue spot there? 

My native isle ! my native isle ! 

In sunnier climes I 'vc strayed, 
But better love thy pebbled beach 

And lonely forest glade, 
Where low winds stir with fragrant breath 

The purple violet's head, 
And the star-grass in the early Spring 

Peeps from the sere leaf's bed. 

I would no more of strife and tears 

Might on thee ever meet, 
But when against the tide of years 

This heart hath ceased to beat. 
Where the green weeping-willows bend 

I fain M'ould go to rest, 
Where waters chant, and winds may sweep 

Above my peaceful breast. 

Mary Gardiner Horsford. 



Shrewsbury, N, J, 

A WRECK IN SHREWSBURY INLET. 

The Liverpool packct-sliip North America, wrecked in Shrewsbury 
Inlet about 18Ji2, remained many years in sight. Some of her timbers 
were rediscovered in 1875 or 1870. 

THE ocean sands are round her keel; 
The ocean surge is rolUng past; 
The sea-bird's wing will whirl and wheel 
In circles round her broken mast ; 



226 POEMS OF PLACES. 

There is no mortal hand to scare 

The crow and sea-gull from her deck; 

No spirit, but the sailor's prayer, 
Keeps watch above the noble wreck. 

Is she not desolate ? — old ship. 

Left to the surges' wild career, — 
No more her noble prow to dip 

In the wide waters, blue and clear? — 
No more to bear the snowy sail 

Home from old England's far-oif shores; 
No more to breast the northern gale. 

With strong men on her oaken floors ? 

Is there no struggle with the storm ? 

No struggle, that the noble steed 
Heaves when, with life-blood still so warm, 

He falls in fight, his last to bleed? 
rights not the old ship wind and tide. 

As in old days, when tempests came 
And the rough waves that swept her side 

Shook not her iron strength of frame ? 

So fights she not ? Ah, gallantly ! 

And slow each plank is rent away 
As if each atom scorned to be 

The first-won trophy of decay. 
The sea-bird on her broken mast. 

The frayed rope swinging from her prow. 

She waits her doom of wave and blast. 

Content to perish, ne'er to bow ! 

Henry Morford. 



SODUS BAY. 227 

Sodus Bay, K Y. 

SODUS BAY. 

I BLESS tliee, native shore! 
Tliy woodlands gay, and waters sparkling clear! 
'Tis like a dream onee more 
The musie of thy thousand waves to hear, 

As, murmuring up the sand. 
With kisses bright they lave the sloping land. 

The gorgeous sun looks do^^l, 
Bathing thee gladly in his noontide ray; 

And o'er thy headlands brown 
With loving light the tints of evening play. 

Thy whispering breezes fear 
To break the calm so softly hallowed here. 

Here, in her green domain, 
The stamp of Nature's sovereignty is found; 

With scarce disputed reign 
She dwells in all the solitude around. 

And here she loves to wear 
The regal garb that suits a queen so fair. 

Tull oft my heart hath yearned 
For thy sweet shades and vales of sunny rest; 

Even as the swan returned, 
Stoops to repose upon thy azure breast, 

I greet each welcome spot 
Eorsaken long, but ne'er, ah, ne'er forgot ! 



228 POEMS OF PLACES. 

'T was here that memory grew, 
'T was here that cliildhood's hopes aud cares were 
left; 

Its early freshness, too, — 
Ere droops the soul, of her best joys bereft. 

Where are they ? — o'er the track 
Of cold years, I would call the wanderers back! 

They must be with thee still ! 
Thou art unchanged, — as bright the sunbeams play : 

Erora not a tree or hill 
Hath time one hue of beauty snatched away. 

Unchanged alike should be 
The blessed things so late resigned to thee. 

Give back, smiling deep. 
The heart's fair sunshine, and the dreams of youth 

That in thy bosom sleep, — • 
Life's April innocence, and trustful truth ! 

The tones that breathed of yore 
In thy lone murmurs, once again restore ! 

Where have they vanished all? 
Only the heedless winds in answer sigh ; 

Still rushing at thy call. 
With reckless sweep the streamlet flashes by ! 

And idle as the air, 
Or fleeting stream, my soul's insatiate prayer. 

Home of sweet thoughts, farewell ! 
Wliere'cr through changeful life my lot may be. 



SPRTNGFIEhD. 229 

A deep and hallowed spell 
Is on thy waters and thy woods for me, 

Though vainly fancy craves 
Its cliildhood with the music of thy waves. 

Elizabeth Fries Bllet. 



Springfield, N. J. 

CALDWELL OF SPRINGFIELD. 

1780. 

HERE 's the spot. Look around you. Above on 
the height 
Lay the Hessians encamped. By that church on the 

right 
Stood the gaunt Jersey farmers. And here ran a 

wall, — 
You may dig anywhere and you '11 turn up a ball. 
Kotliing more. Grasses spring, waters run, flowers 

blow, 
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago. 

Nothing more, did I say ? Stay one moment ; you've 

heard 
Of Caldwell, the parson, who once preached the Word 
Down at Springfield ? What, no ? Come — that 's bad, 

why he had 
All the Jerseys aflame ! And they gave him the name 



230 POEMS OF PLACES, 

Of tlie " rebel liigh-priest." He stuck in their gorge, 
For lie loved the Lord God, — and he hated King 

George ! 

He had cause, you might say ! When the Hessians 

that day 
Marched up with Knyphausen they stopped on their 

way 
At the "Farms," where his wife, with a child in her 

arms. 
Sat alone in the house. How it happened none knew 
Eut God — and that one of the hireling crew 
Who fired the shot ! Enough ! — there she lay. 
And Caldwell, the chaplain, her husband, away ! 

Did he bear it, — what way ? Think of him as you 

stand 
By the old church to-day; — think of him and that 

band 
Of militant ploughboys ! See the smoke and the heat 
Of that reckless advance, — of that straggling retreat ! 
Keep the ghost of that wife, foully slain, in your 

view, — 
And what could you, what should you, what would 

you do? 

Why, just what he did ! They were left in the lurch 
For the want of more wadding. He ran to the church, 
Broke the door, stripped the pews, and dashed out in 

the road 
With his arms full of hymn-books, and threw down 

his load 



STATEN ISLAND. 231 

At their feet ! tlieii above all the shouting and shots, 
Kang his voice, — " Put Watts into 'em, — Boys, give 

'em Watts ! " 
And they did. That is all. Grasses spring, flowers 

blow 
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago. 
You may dig anywhere and you '11 turn up a ball, — 
But not always a hero like this, — and that's all. 

Bret Harte. 



Staten Island, N. Y. ' 

AT HOME IN STATEN ISLAND. 

MY true-love clasped me by the hand. 
And from our garden alley. 
Looked o'er the landscape seamed with sea, I 

And rich with liill and valley, 

And said, "We 've found a pleasant place ] 

As fair as thine and my land, [ 

A calm abode, a flowery home, I 

In sunny Staten Island. j 

" Behind us lies the teeming town 

With lust of gold grown frantic; 
Before us glitters o'er the bay 

The peaceable Atlantic. 
We bear the murmur of the sea, — - \ 

A monotone of sadness, : 



233 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Eut not a whisper of tlie crowd, j 

Or echo of its madness. * i 

" See how the dogwood sheds its bloom 

Through all the greenwood mazes, 
As white as the untrodden snow 

That hides in shady places. 
See how the fair catalpa spreads 

Its azure flowers in masses, 
Bell-shaped, as if to woo the wind 

To ring them as it passes. 

" See, stretching o'er the green hillside, ■ 

The haunt of cooing turtle, j 

The clambering vine, the branching elm, \ 

The maple and the myrtle, \ 

The undergrowth of flowers and fern ] 

In many-tinted lustre, \ 

And parasites that climb or creep, ' 

And droop, and twist, and cluster. . i 

*' Behold the gorgeous butterflies ' 

That in the sunshine glitter, ' 

The bluebird, oriole, and wren j 

That dart and float and twitter; j 

And humming-birds that peer like bees 

In stamen and in pistil. 
And, over all, the bright blue sky 

Translucent as a crystal. ' j 

"The air is balmy, not too warm, ' 

And all the landscape sunny ' 



SUSQUEHANN.\. THE IlIVEll. 233 

Seems, like tlie Hebrew Paradise, 

To flow with milk and honey. 
Here let us rest, a little while, — 

Not rich enough to buy land. 

And pass a sunnncr well content 

In bowery Staten Island." 
* * » 

Charles Mackay. 



Susquehanna, the River, Pa. 

SUSQUEHANNA. 

SOETLY the blended light of evening rests 
Upon thee, lovely stream ! Thy gentle tide. 
Picturing the gorgeous beauty of the sky. 
Onward, unbroken by the ruffling Mind, 
Majestically Hows. Oh ! by thy side. 
Far from the tumults and the throng of men. 
And the vain cares that vex poor human life, 
'T were happiness to dwell, alone with thee. 
And the wide, solemn grandeur of the scene. 
From thy green shores, the mountains that enclose 
In their vast sweep the beauties of the plain. 
Slowly receding, toward the skies ascend. 
Enrobed with clustering woods, o'er which the smile 
Of Autumn in his loveliness hath passed. 
Touching their foliage with his brilliant hues. 
And flinging o'er tlie lowliest leaf and shrub 
His golden livery. On the distant heights 
Soft clouds, earth-based, repose, and stretch afar 



234 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Their burnished summits iu the clear, blue heaven, 

Elooded with splendor, that the dazzled eye 

Turns drooping from the sight. — Nature is here 

Like a throned sovereign, and thy voice doth tell, 

In music never silent, of her power. 

Nor are thy tones unanswered, where she builds 

Such monuments of regal sway. These wide. 

Untrodden forests eloquently speak. 

Whether the breath of summer stir their depths, 

Or the hoarse moaning of November's blast 

Strip from their boughs their covering. 

* ♦ * 

Ear beyond this vale. 
That sends to heaven its incense of lone flowers. 
Gay village spires ascend, — and the glad voice 
Of industry is heard. So in the lapse 
Of future years these ancient woods shall bow 
Beneath the levelling axe, — and man's abodes 
Displace their sylvan honors. They will pass 
In turn away ; yet, heedless of all change, 
Surviving all, thou still wilt murmur on. 
Lessoning the fleeting race that look on thee 
To mark the wrecks of time, and read their doom. 

Elizabeth Fries Ellet, 

MEETING OF THE SUSQUEHANNA AND THE 
LACKAWANNA. 

RUSH on, glad stream, in thy power and pride, 
To claim the hand of thy promised bride ; 
She doth haste from the realm of the darkened mine. 
To mingle her murmured vows with thine; 



SUSQUEHANNA, THE IIIVER. 235 

Ye have met, — ye have met, and the shores prolong 
The liquid notes of your nuptial song. 

Mctluuks ye wed, as the white man's son 

And the child of the Indian king have done; 

I saw thy bride, as she strove m vain. 

To cleanse her brow from the carbon stain. 

But she brings thee a dowry so rich and true 

That thy love must not shrink from the tawny hue. 

Her birth was rude, in a mountain cell, 

And her infant freaks there are none to tell; 

The path of her beauty was wild and free. 

And in dell and forest she hid from thee; 

But the day of her fond caprice is o'er. 

And she seeks to part from tliy breast no more. 

Pass on in the joy of thy blended tide, 

Through the land wliere the blessed IMiquon^ died; 

No red man's blood with its guilty stain 

Hath cried unto God from that broad domain, — 

"With the seeds of peace they have sown tlie soil. 

Bring a harvest of wealth for their hour of toil. 

On, on, through the vale where the brave ones sleep, 

Where the waving foliage is rich and deep ; 

I have stood on the mountain and roamed through the 

glen 
To the beautiful homes of the western men ; 
Yet naught in that realm of enchantment could see. 
So fair as the vale of Wyoming to me. 

Lydia Huntley S'lgoxirney. 

* A name given by the aborigines to their friend William Penn. 



236 POEMS or PLACES. 

Tappan, N, Y. 

ANDRE. 

THIS is the place where Andre met that death 
Whose infamy was keenest of its throes, 
And in this phace of bravely yielded breath 
His ashes found a fifty years' repose ; 

And then, at last, a transatlantic grave, 

With those who have been kings in blood or fame, 

As Honor here some compensation gave 

For that once forfeit to a hero's name. 

But whether in the Abbey's glory laid, 
Or on so fair but fatal Tappan's shore. 
Still at his grave have noble hearts betrayed 
The loving pity and regret they bore. 

In view of all he lost, — his youth, his love. 
And possibilities that wait the brave, 
Inward and outward bound, dim visions move 
Like passing sails upon the Hudson's wave. 

The country's Father ! how do we revere 
His justice, — Brutus-like in its decree, — 
With Andre-sparing mercy, still more dear 
Had been his name, — if that, indeed, could be ! 

Charlotte Fiske Bates. 



TARRYTOWN. 237 

Tarrytoimi, N, Y. 

IN THE CHURCHYARD AT TARRYTOWN. 

HERE lies the gentle humorist, who died 
In the bright Indian Summer of his fame ! 
A simple stone, with but a date and name, 
Marks his secluded resting-place beside 
The river that he loved and glorified. 
Here in the autumn of his days he came, 
But the dry leaves of life were all aflame 
With tints that brightened and were multiplied. 
How sweet a life was his ; how sweet a death ! 
Living, to wing with mirth the weary hours, 
Or with romantic tales the heart to cheer; 
Dying, to leave a memory like the breath 
Of summers full of sunshine and of showers, 
A grief and gladness in the atmosphere. 

Ilenry Wadsworth Longfellow, 

SLEEPY HOLLOW. 

BENEATH these gold and azure skies, 
The river winds through leafy glades, 
Save where, like battlements, arise 
The gray and tufted Palisades. 

The fervor of this sultry time 
Is tempered by the humid earth. 



238 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And zephyrs, bom of summer's prime. 
Give a delicious cooluess birth. 

They freshen this sequestered nook 

With constant greetings bland and free; 

The pages of the open book 

All flutter with their wayward glee. 

As quicker swell their breathings soft. 
Cloud shadows skim along the field; 

And yonder dangling woodbines oft 
Their crimson bugles gently yield. 

The tulip-tree majestic stirs. 

Ear down the Avater's marge beside, 

And now awake the nearer firs, 

And toss their ample branches wide. 

How blithely trails the pendent vine ! 

The grain slope lies in green repose ; 
Through the dark foliage of the pine 

And lofty elms, the sunshine glows. 

Like sentinels in firm array 

The trees-of-life their shafts uprear ; 

Ked cones upon the sumach play, 
And ancient locusts whisper near. 

"From wave and meadow, cliff and sky. 
Let thy stray vision homeward fall ; 

Behold the mist-bloom floating nigh, 
And hollyhock white-edged and tall ; 



TARRYTOWN. 239 

Its gaudy leaves, though fanued apart, 
Round thick and mealy stamens spring, 

And nestled to its crimson heart. 
The sated bees enamored cling, 

Mark the broad terrace flecked with light, 
That peeps through trelUses of rose, 

And quivers with a vague delight, 
As each pale shadow comes and goes. 

The near, low gurgle of tlie brook, 

The wren's glad chirp, the scented hay, 
And e'en the watch-dog's peaceful look 
Our vain disquietudes allay. 
* ♦ * 

Henry Theodore Tuckerman-. 



SLEEPY HOLLOW CHUECH AND IRYING'S GRAVE. 

TWO centuries have left their hoary trace 
Upon yon ancient pile of weathered stone. 
Triumphant church ! It stands alone ! 
Militant no more, nor of the present race. 
Its elder saints, called to celestial grace. 
No longer now tlieir sins bemoan. 

No architectural fancy mars its wall. 

Nor modern beauty frets its artless mould; 
The truth is plain, 't is very old ; 

And as I enter through its silent hall, 

From faded recollection I recall 
The names its history has told. 



240 POEMS OF PLACES. 

In imaged thought I seem to see once more, 

Around its homely porch and narrow walk, 

The sturdy youth in rustic frock; ' 

And decked in quaintest fashion, as of yore j 

Are grouped the maidens round the outer door; 1 

I hear the ancient people talk. ; 

Their uncouth dialect and gestured speech 

Betray the lusty blood of Fatherland. ; 

A stern and pious little band. 
Their simple parson leads to pray and preach. 
They know by heart the lesson he will teach, j 

And crave a blessing from his hand. i 

i 
Alas ! the voices which I seem to hear j 

Are dreamy echoes of the silent ones ; | 

I read the churchyard's dingy stones, ^ 

The very names sound aged to the ear, j 

And half the rude memorials disappear 

Where'er the sere gray lichen runs. 

Scarce distant from these ancient graves, I turn 
And trace the In Memoriam, by the dust 
Of one whose pure disdain of lust, 
Whose famed yet gentle life no marble urn 
Nor bronze recites; but only hedge and fern j 

Are wreathed about a nation's trust. 

i 

The love a selfish world unselfish bears i 

Is better left to memory alone ; | 

No need of praise on mocking stone ' 

Where every passing eye in wonder stares; 



TICONDEROGA. 241 

Or, richly blazoned in the city squares, 
Torsooth to claim what men disown. 

Ah ! not the boasting shaft enshrines the man. 

Time has no hour in which to knell the fame 

Upborne by an immortal claim. 
For it a bridge ethereal shall span 
The ages; nor the wisest critic's ban. 

Nor aught despoil the deathless name. 

S. IT. Thayer. 



Ticonderoga, N. Y. 

TICONDEROGA. 

THE cold, gray light of the dawning ' ' 

On old Carillon falls. 
And dim in the mist of the morning 

Stand the grim old fortress walls. \ 

No sound disturbs the stillness 

Save the cataract's mellow roar. 
Silent as death is the fortress. 

Silent the misty shore. I 

But up from the wakening waters 

Comes the cool, fresh morning breeze, ] 

Lifting the banner of Britain, j 

And whispering to the trees ] 

Of the swift gliding boats on the waters " j 

That are ncaring the fog-shrouded land, ' 



.242 POEMS OF Places. 

With tlie old Green Mountain Lion, 
And Lis daring patriot band. 

But the sentinel at the postern 

Heard not the whisper low; 
He is dreaming of the banks of the Shannon 

As he walks on his beat to and fro, 
Of the starry eyes in Green Erin 

That were dim when he marched away. 
And a tear down his bronzed cheek courses, 

^T is the first for many a day. 

A sound breaks the misty stillness, 

And quickly he glances around ; 
Through the mist, forms like towering giants 

Seem rising out of the ground ; 
A challenge, the firelock flashes, 

A sword cleaves the quivering air. 
And the sentry lies dead by the postern. 

Blood staining his bright yellow hair. 

Then with a shout that awakens 

All tlie echoes of hillside and glen, 
Tlirougli the low, frowning gate of the fortress. 

Sword in hand, rush the Green Mountain men. 
The scarce wakened troops of the garrison 

Yield up their trust pale with fear; 
And down comes the bright British banner, 

And out rings a Green Mountain cheer. 

riushed with pride, the whole eastern heavens 
With crimson and gold are ablaze ; 



TRAPPE, THE. 243 

And up springs the sun in his splendor 
And flings down his arrowy rays, 

Bathhig in sunlight the fortress, 
Turning to gold the griin walls. 

While louder and clearer and higher 
Rings the song of the waterfalls. 

Since the taking of Ticondcroga 

A century has rolled away; 
But with pride the nation remembers 

That glorious morning in May. 
And the cataracts' silvery music 

Forever the story tells, 
Of the capture of old Carillon, 

The chime of the silver bells. ^ 



V. B. Wilsoit. 

\ 



Trappe, The, Pa. 

THE OLD CHURCH. 

IN the heat of a day in September 
We came to the old church door, 
We bared our heads, I remember. 

On the step that the moss covered o'er. 
There the vines climbed over and under. 
And we trod with a reverent wonder 

Through the dust of the years on the floor. 

1 Carillon is the name given to the fortress by the French, meaning 
Chime of Bells." 



244 POEMS OF PLACES. 

From tlie dampness and darkness and stillness 
No resonant cliantings outroUed, 

And the air with its vaporous chillness 
Covered altar and column with mould. 

Eor the pulpit had lost its old glory. 

And its greatness become but a story. 
By the aged still lovingly told. 

O'er the graves 'neath the long waving grasses 
In summer the winds lightly blow, 

And the phantoms come forth from the masses 
Of deep tangled ivy that grow. 

Through the aisles at midnight they wander, — 

At noon of the loft they are fonder, — 
Unhindered they come and they go. 

And it seemed that a breath of a spirit, 
Like a zephyr at cool of the day, 

Passed o'er us and then we could hear it 
In the loft through the organ-pipes play. 

All the aisles and the chancel seemed haunted, 

And weird anthems by voices were chanted 
Where dismantled the organ's pipes lay. 

Came the warrior who robed as a Colonel 
Led his men to the fight from the prayer, 

And the pastor who tells in his journal 

What he saw in the sunlight's bright glare. 

How a band of wild troopers danced under 

While the organ was pealing its thunder 
In gay tunes on the sanctified air. 



TRAPPE, THE. 3-15 

And Gottlieb, colonial musician, 

Once more liad come over the seas, 

And sweet to the slave and patrician 
Were the sounds of his low melodies ; 

Once again came the tears, the petition, 

Soul-longings and heart-felt contrition 
At his mystical touch on the keys. 

There joined in the prayers of the yeomen 
For the rulers and high in command. 

The statesman who prayed that the foemen 
Might perish by sea and by land ; 

And flowers from lierbariums Elysian 

Long pressed, yet still sweet, in the vision 
Were strewn by a spiritual hand. 

There were saints, — there were souls heavy-laden 
With the burden of sins unconfessed. 

In the shadow there lingered a maiden 
With a babe to her bosom close pressed, 

And the peace that exceeds understanding 

Borne on odors of blossoms expanding 
Eorever abode in her breast. 

Then hushed were the prayers and the chorus 
As we gazed ihrough the gloom o'er the pews, 

And the phantoms had gone from before us 
By invisible dark avenues. 

And slowly we passed through the portals 

In awe from the haunts of immortals 

Who had vanished like summer's liirht dews. 



246 POEMS OF PLACES. 

churcli ! that of old proudly flourished. 

Upon thee decay gently falls. 
And the founders by whom thou wert nourished 

Lie low in the shade of thy walls ; 
No stone need those pioneer sages 
To tell their good works to the ages : 

Thy ruin their greatness recalls. 

Anonymous. 







Trenton, N, J, 

BATTLE OF TRENTON. 
N Christmas-day in seventy-six. 



Our ragged troops with bayonets fixed, 

For Trenton marched away. 
The Delaware see ! the boats below ! 
The light obscured by hail and snow! 

But no signs of dismay. 

Our object was the Hessian band. 
That dared invade fair freedom's land. 

And quarter in that place. 
Great Washington he led us on, 
Wliose streaming flag, in storm or sun. 

Had never known disgrace. 

In silent march we passed the night. 
Each soldier panting for the fight, 

Though quite benumbed with frost. 
Greene, on the left, at six began. 
The right was led by Sullivan, 

Who ne'er a moment lost. 



TRENTON FALLS. 247 

Their pickets stormed, tlie alarm -was spread. 
That rebels risen from the dead 

Were marching into town. 
Some scampered here, some scampered there, 
And some for action did prepare; 

But soon their arms laid do\ni. 

Twelve hundred servile miscreants. 
With all their colors, guns, and tents. 

Were trophies of the day. 
The frohc o'er, the bright canteen 
In centre, front, and rear was seen 

Driving fatigue a^vay. 

Now, brothers of the patriot bands. 
Let 's sing deliverance from the hands 

Of arbitrary sway. 
And as our life is but a span, 
Let 's touch the tankard while we can, 

Li memory of that day. 

Anoft?/moi(S. 



Trenton Falls, K Y, 

TRENTON FALLS. 

POUR down, O Trenton, thy amber screen, 
That the pool's dim surface no more be seen! 
Gay reveller, tossing away thy wine, 
Thy golden sherry, whose hue divine 



248 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Was never sphered in tlie clustering vine, 

'T is Autumn who feeds thee ; her banners she flings 

Across thy full sources, and shakes in thy springs 

Her whole wealth of colors, leaves orange and red. 

Green, purple, and mottled, an emperor's bed 

Tor thy waters to dream on ; and when they awake. 

Into flashes of gold and of amber they break: 

Oh, type of glad youth, forever be hung 

With garlands of faces all rosy and young ! 

Ilaria Lowell. 



WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS, 

COME down ! from where the everlasting hills 
Open their rocky gates to let thee pass. 
Child of a thousand rapid running rills, 
And still lakes, where the skies their beauty glass. 

With thy dark eyes, white feet, and amber hair. 
Of heaven and earth thou fair and fearful daughter. 
Through thy wide halls, and down thy echoing stair, 
Rejoicing come, — thou lovely " Leaping Water ! " 

Shout ! till the woods beneath their vaults of green 
Resound, and shake their pillars on thy way; 
Pling wide thy glittering fringe of silver sheen. 
And toss towards heaven thy clouds of dazzling spray. 

The sun looks down upon thee with delight, 
And weaves his prism around thee for a belt ; 
And as the wind waves thy thin robes of light. 
The jewels of thy girdle glow and melt. 



VALLEY FOUGE. 249 1 

All! where be they, who first with human eyes 
Beheld thy glory, thou triumphant flood ! 
And through the forest heard with glad surprise 
Thy waters calling like the voice of God? 

Far towards the setting sun wandering they go, 
Poor remnant ! left from exile and from slaughter. 
But still their memory, mingling with thy flow, 
Lives in thy name, — thou lovely " Leaping Water." 

Frances Anne Kemble, 



Valley Forge, Pa. 

VALLEY FORGE. 

O'ER town and cottage, vale and height, 
Down came the Winter, fierce and white. 
And shuddering wildly, as distraught 
At horrors his own liand had wrought. 

His child, the young Year, newly born. 

Cheerless, cowering, and affrighted. 
Wailed with a shivering voice forlorn. 

As on a frozen heath benighted. 
In vain the hearths were set aglow. 

In vain the evening lamps were lighted. 
To cheer the dreary realm of snow: 
Old Winter's brow would not be smoothed. 
Nor the young Year's wailing soothed. 



250 POEMS OF PLACES. 1 

i 

How sad the wretch at morn or eve j 

Compelled his starving home to leave, j 

Who, plunged breast-deep from drift to drift, ; 

Toils slowly on from rift to rift. 

Still hearing in his aching ear I 

The cry his fancy whispers near, 

Of little ones who weep for bread •; 

Within an ill-provided shed! 

But wilder, fiercer, sadder still, 

freezing the tear it caused to start. 
Was the inevitable chill 

Which pierced a nation's agued heart, — 
A nation with its naked breast ; 

Against the frozen barriers prest. 

Heaving its tedious way and slow j 

Through shifting gulfs and drifts of woe, i 

Where every blast that whistled by 
Was bitter with its children's cry. 

Such was the winter's awful sight 
Eor many a dreary day and night. 

What time our country's hope forlorn, i 

Of every needed comfort shorn, ; 

Lay housed within a hurried tent, 

Wliere every keen blast found a rent, J 

And oft the snow was seen to sift ! 

Along the floor its piling drift, i 

Or, mocking the scant blankets' fold, I 

Across the night-couch frequent rolled; •' 

Wliere every path by a soldier beat, 
Or every track where a sentinel stood, 



VALLEY FORGE. 251 

Still held tlie print of naked feet, 

And oft the erinison stains of blood; 
TVliere Famine held her spectral court, 

And joined by all her fierce allies : 
She ever loved a camp or fort 

Beleaguered by the wintry skies, — 
But chiefly when Disease is by. 
To sink the frame and dim the eye, 
Until, with seeking forehead bent, 

111 martial garments cold and damp. 
Pale Death patrols from tent to tent. 

To count the charnels of the camp. 

Such was the winter that prevailed 

Within the crowded, frozen gorge ; 
Such were the horrors that assailed 

The patriot band at Valley Forge. 

It was a midnight storm of woes 

To clear the sky for Freedom's morn; 

And such must ever be the throes 
The hour when Liberty is born. 

The chieftain, by his evening lamp, 

T\liose flame scarce cheered the hazy damp, 

Sat toiling o'er some giant plan, 

With maps and charts before him spread, 
Beholding in his warrior scan 

The paths which through the future led. 



Thomas Buchanan Read. 



25iJ POEMS OF PLACES. 



Watkins Glen, N. Y. 

THE WATKINS GLEN AT THE HEAD OF SENECA LAKE. 

SWEET music steals with fragrancy of flowers, 
The melody of waters, and the breath 
Of perfumed June within me ! Memory 
Hath startled lier tranced empire, and around 
A vision spreads. Have we not seen the mist 
Mantling the form of Nature ? in its depths 
All her fair features mingle, shrub and tree 
And flashing waterfall and skyward crag. 
In one weird, wavering tumult ; but a glance 
Of sunshine cleaves the chaos, and behold 
The glorious picture. That dark spectre reared 
Aloft hath brightened to a stately pine • 
That shifting gleam to a far cataract; 
And yon black mass to a near grotto curled 
In the rock-strata. The gray precipice 
Plunges the eye below until it sinks 
Into blank gloom ; or rears it till the edge 
Of slanting tree and hanging slielf breaks up 
The sky-roof into streaks of fretted blue 
And dancing spangles ; clearer still the scene, 
And noM^ show darkling gorge and ragged rift. 
And shelving path and jutting gallery. 
And dashing, tumbling foam and showering spray. 
Ledges of clutching roots, and sheer, brown rock 
With dangling threads of rootlets, hung like fringe. 



1 

WATKINS GLEN. 253 | 

TMicre not the clinging' foot of moss or fern ' 

Spots its stern, savage wildncss. I 

Hark ! from out 
The wizard realm, a loud, tumultuous sound ! 
Yet tuned into sweet harmony as tunes 
Nature her varied voices ! murmurings deep 
Of winds in minstrel-pines, so soft, so deep. 

They sway the soul as their lithe limbs are swayed, j 

And rumble soft of far-off waterfalls ! ,, 

It is thy image in the heart, new-born, j 

Glen of the Hills ! and lo, before me now j 

It stands in all its vividness of life ! i 

A path of stars, that path of summer hours, I 

I passed with thee, the morn of sunny June I 

When Nature, blight with Spring's fresh miracle j 

Crowning her forehead, smiled in harmony 
Of blue and green and gold ; no cloud to stain. 
No woe to mar, all cloudless as the heavens ! 

* * * 

And now the path begins that shall disclose 
Thee in thy loveliness and stateliness ! 
Thy galleries clambering like the clambering goat; 

Thy hanging platforms like great caglc-nests , 

Seen through the trees ; iliy bridges leading o'er 
The dizzy chasms ; thy soaring, beetling crags 
rrowning like Titans at their solitude 
Destroyed ; thy sunken pathways through the rocks ; 
Thy shelves, thy ledges, and thy towering pines ; 
Thy streaks of sky-roof, and thy parent stream 
With its long chain of headlong cataracts. 
And pools and windings ! 



254 POEMS OF PLACES. 

See, in front, the rock 
Spouts silver; the first vision of thy stream, 
Glen Brook. We mount the clinging gallery, 
And lo. Glen Alpha! vestibule sublime 
To the vast fane. How like to opening youth 
With life before us ! Hope in living light 
Shines in our front, and objects rise around 
Anchored on lofty platforms, row on row. 
Until they mingle with the loftiest blue 
Of expectation ; pleasure's plumy ferns 
And mosses blent with flowers of present bliss, 
Too frail even for the morrow, charm the eye. 
We pause to breathe the clear inspiring air. 
And revel in the very consciousness 
Of life that brims the heart and fills the veins. 
How like the tangle of the plans and pains 
And joys and interests our stern manhood shows, 
That wild-tossed spot, well named The Labyrmth ! 
Now let us step behind the diamond curve 
Of this swift leap of foam ! the glittering roof. 
The Cavern Cascade shapes above the mouth 
Of this The Grotto. Voices of the plunge 
Pill all the ear, and the rapt sight is whelmed 
In dropping jewelry, as when June sends 
Her gentle shower to sparkle in the sun. 
What contrast to yon gorge where once the wind 
Crushed down great trees and hurled as in wild sport 
fragments of crag, its fierce clutch tore from out 
The strata, till its grand and fearful tread, 
Gorge of the Wliirlwind ! made this leafy nook 
A savage wreck. 



WATKINS GLEN. 255- 

Now Mystic Gorge, with chalices of rock 

Cut by the wliirhng boulder ! list that strain. 

Where Sylvan Rapids tune their little lute ! 

A mingled minstrelsy of purl and dash, 

Warble and gurgle, like tlie braided song 

Of robin, wren, and bobolink. A broad 

White burst of dazzling day ! Thy mighty urn, 

O Glen Cathedral! where the soaring rocks 

Prop the high heavens as Atlas props his mount. 

It seems the chamber of the Glen's great King, 

The Genius Loci. Mosses hang the walls 

With curtained emerald, and the printless floor 

Smooth as yon pool ! Above, the broadened roof 

Is wrought of God's own brow of beaming blue, 

Save where the slanting pine one wrinkle plants. 

What maelstrom of whirled boulders fashioned thee, 

Cathedral of the rock ! what thundering scoop, 

What sweeping swing? Thy same slight arm, rill, 

That penetrated softly yon dark cleft, 

And parted with its light and gradual touch 

This little pathway, like the touch of Time 

That wears the blossom and the mountain down. 

Gaze round ! what contrast rich of brights and darks, 

Close shade and cheery sun, — a fretwork dance 

Of breezy leaves, — mosaic of quick tints, — 

A dazzling interchange of black and gold. 

The sparks of sunshine sprinkled on the leaves 

Glitter like stars; upon the sunny grass 

Each tree has dropped its shadow as the Turk 

At noontide drops his carpet. Edges of light 

Lace the thick evergreens and yon slight spray 



.256 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Of the black-waluut, fringed witli oval leaves, ' 

Seems as if melting into fluid gold. I 
Pool of the Nymphs at moonlight, do you see 
The naiads plunge within thy silver balm 
And float like glittering pearls, until the scene 
Is full of merriest mirth and sweetest song ? 

Art thou a mirror to the rich red dawn, j 

And doth the evening star in thy clear depth ■ 

Drop its grand diamond ? Thou too, Glen of the Pools ! ■ 

Thy rocky goblets look as if their draughts ; 

Had oft shone foi' the Genii of the spot, i 

Peasting together in the summer heats, ': 

What time the breeze lay lifeless on the leaf { 

Of even the aspen, and the very thread j 

Of gossamer drooped downward, and save close | 

To the unending plunge of falling foam, ; 

Not one soft, downy, airy atom stirred. | 

Thou ownest, too, the epitome of charms I 
Of all the Glen in this thy Matchless Scene; • ; 

The grace, the grandeur, the wild loveliness, ; 
And stern magnificence of waterfall; 

Dark chasm, smooth pool, tall tree, and foamy flash | 

Of rapids ; foliage fresh and green as heart ■] 

Of childhood; curls of feathery ferns which gave , 

To the Greek temple the acanthus leaf, i 

And mosses plump as formed Titania's floor i 

At elfin dances. So did Zeuxis blend t 

In his bright Helen all the varied charms ; 

Of Athens, till the canvas flashed with tints ] 

That live in dawns and sunsets, gems and flowers, ' 

And smile at Time. But hark, that organ-voice, -\ 



WATKINS GLEN. 257 

And sec you cataract bursting into view, 
Careering down its threefold terraces ! 
Toward it, along the ledges of our path 
Grazing the cliff, a lace-work of quick drops — 
A shivered rill — falls down in diamond gauze 
Between us and the scene ; the lush green moss 
Grows greener here ; the fern shows richer curve. 
And every grass blade wears more vivid hue. 
But now we pause beside the towering rock 
Where the rich bastion, crystalline half-moon 
Of this, — the Glen's crown-gem, — the Rainbow Fall 
Curves from the beetling crag. Behind the sheet ! 
What delicate balm of coolness, flitting airs, 
As from invisible fairy fans ! We bathe 
In the soft bliss, and, glancing through the veil, 
That wondrous opal of the sun and rain, 
The first-born of the deluge, bends its bow. 
Melting and brightening, dancing, quivering there, 
Young as when first it filled the wondering eye 
Of Noah, kindled the niched Ark, and crowned 
Grand Ararat with diadem of the sun. 

* * * 

And yet, O Stream, though gentle in thy smile 
Of Summer, woe, when Winter bursts his chain 
And lets thee loose, with all thy frantic wrath 
Upon thee ! when the weight of melted snows 
Is wreaked on thy full breast, and scourging rains 
Have roused thy heart to direst frenzy ; lo ! 
With roar of splintering thunders, thou dost break 
Down from thy sources ; and with tawny mane. 
Wild tossing, and with foamy fangs that tear. 



258 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Fierce dost thou liurl thy fearful length along, 
Drowning the fairy waterfalls, the pools 
Brimming, till even their dimpling whirls are lost 
In gushes, stripping from the raw rough banks 
The mantling mosses ; rolling onward rocks 
Like pebbles, and huge trunks of jagged trees 
Like straws ; and tugging at the tough old roots 
Of pines until they shake with awful dread. 
On rush thy waters, while the tortured Glen 
Roars to thy ^:oar and trembles at thy speed, 
Until, with headlong plunge, at last thy surge 
Slumbers in quiet in the quiet Lake. 

Alfred Billings Street. 



Weehawken, N. J. 

WEEHAWKEN. 

WEEHAWKEN ! in thy mountain scenery yet, 
All we adore of Nature in her wild 
And frolic hour of infancy is met; 

And never has a summer's morning smiled 
Upon a lovelier scene than the full eye 
Of the enthusiast revels on, when high 

Amid thy forest solitudes, he climbs 

O'er crags that proudly tower above the deep, 
And knows that sense of danger which sublimes 

The breathless moment, when his daring step 



WEEIIAWKEN. 259 

Is on the verge of the cliff, and he can hear 
The low dash of the wave with startled ear. 

Like the death-music of his coming doom, 

And clings to the green turf with desperate force, 

As the heart clings to life ; and when resume 
The currents in his veins their wonted course, 

Tlicre lingers a deep feeling, like the moan 

Of wearied ocean when the storm is gone. 

In such an hour he turns, and on his view 
Ocean and earth and heaven burst before him. 

Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue 
Of Summer's sky, in beauty bending o'er him, — 

The city bright below; and far away, 

Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay. 

Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement. 
And banners floating in the sunny air ; 

And white sails o'er the calm l)lue waters bent. 
Green isle and circling shore, are blended there. 

In wild reality. When life is old. 

And many a scene forgot, the heart will hold 

Its memory of this ; nor lives there one 

Whose infant breath was drawn, or boyhood's days 
Of happiness were passed beneath that sun. 

That in his manhood's prime can calmly gaze 
Upon that bay or on that mountain stand. 
Nor feel the prouder of his native land. 

Fiiz- Greene Ilalleck. 



260 POEMS OF PLACES. 



WEEHAWKEN. 



EVE o'er our patli is stealing fast; 
Yon quivering splendors are the last 
The sun will fling, to tremble o'er 
The waves that kiss the opposuig shore; 
His latest glories fringe the height 
Behind us, with their golden hght. 

The mountain's mirrored outline fades 
Amid the fast-extending shades ; 
Its shaggy bulk, in sterner pride. 
Towers, as the gloom steals o'er the tide; 
Por the great stream a bulwark meet 
That leaves its rock-encumbered feet. 

River and mountain ! though to song 
Not yet, perchance, your names belong; 
Those who have loved your evening hues 
Will ask not the recording Muse 
What antique tales she can relate. 
Your banks and steeps to consecrate. 

Yet, should the stranger ask what lore 
Of bygone days this winding shore. 
Yon cliffs and fir -clad steeps, could tell. 
If vocal made by fancy's spell, — 
The varying legend might rehearse 
Tit themes for hicrh, romantic verse. 



IVEEHAWKEN. 261 

O'er yon rough heights and moss-clad sod 
Oft hath the stalworth warrior trod; 
Or peered, with hunter's gaze, to mark 
The progress of the gkncing bark. 
Spoils, strangely won on distant waves. 
Have lurked in yon obstructed caves. 

When the great strife for Freedom rose, 
Here scouted oft her friends and foes 
Alternate, through the changeful war. 
And beacon-iires flashed bright and far; 
And here, when Freedom's strife was won, 
Fell, in sad feud, her favored son, — 

Her son, tlie second of the band, 
The Romans of the rescued land. 
Where round yon capes the banks ascend. 
Long shall the pilgrim's footsteps bend; 
There mirthful hearts shall pause to sigh. 
There tears shall dim the patriot's eye. 

There last he stood. Before his sight 
Flowed the fair river, free and bright; 
Tlie rising mart, and isles, and bay, 
Before him in their glory lay, — 
Scenes of his love and of his fame, — 
The instant ere the death-shot came. 

Robert Charles Sands^ 



263 POEMS or places. 



West Point, K Y. 

WEST POINT. 

WILD umbrage far around me clings 
To breezy knoll and liusbed ravine, 
And o'er eacli rocky headland flings 
Its mantle of refreshing green. 

The echoes that so boldly rung 

When cannon flashed from steep to steep, 
And Freedom's airy challenge flung, 

In each romantic valley sleep. 

His counsels here our chieftain breathed, 
Here roved his mild, undaunted eye, 

When yon lone fort, with thickets wreathed. 
Held captive Britain's gallant spy. 

!Fit home to rear a nation's youth 
By self-control to nerve the will. 

Through knowledge gain expansive truth, 
And with high aims life's circle fill. 

How grateful is the sudden change 
I'rom arid pavements to the grass, 

Erom narrow streets that thousands range. 
To meadows where June's zephyrs pass ! 

Beneath the cliff's the river steals 
In darksome eddies to the shore, 



WEST POINT. 

But midway every sail reveals 
Reflected on its crystal floor. 

In tranquil mood the cattle walk 
Along the verdant marge to feed. 

While poised upon the midlein stalk 
The chirping redbird picks the seed. 

Low murmurs in the foliage bred, 
Tlie clear horizon's azure line, 

Tresh turf elastic to the tread, 
And leafy canopies are thine. 

Wliite fleecy clouds move slowly by, 
How cool their shadows fall to-day ! 

A moment on the hills they lie, 
And then like spirits glide away. 

Amid the herbage, yesternight, 

His web the cunning spider threw. 

And now, as sparkling diamonds bright, 
It glistens with the pendent dew. 

Gay butterflies dart on and sink 
O'er the sweet blossoms of the pea, 

And from the clover's globe of pink 
Contented hums the downy bee. 

In all this varied beauty glows 

Deep meaning for the thoughtful heart, 
As it were fain to teach repose. 

And lofty confidence impart. 



264 POEMS OF PLACES. 

HovT vivid to my fancy now. 
Uprise the forms that life redeem ! 

The ardent eye, the open brow. 
And tender smile beside me seem. 

[For Nature's presence gathers back 

The deeds that grace, the loves that cheer, 

And as her holy steps we track, 

Hope's rainbow breaks through sorrow's tear. 
Henry Theodore Tuckerman. 



THE GRAVEYARD AT WEST POINT. 

ON this sweet Sabbath morning, let us wander 
Erom the loud music and the gay parade. 
Where sleeps the graveyard, in its silence, yonder, 
Deep in the mountain shade. 

There, side by side, the dark green cedars cluster, 
Like sentries watching by that camp of Death ; 

There, like an army's tents, with snow-white lustre. 
The gravestones gleam beneath. 

But, as we go, no posted guard or picket 
Stays our approach across the level grass, 

Nor hostile challenge at the simple wicket 
Through which our footsteps pass. 

Sweet spot, by Nature's primal consecration, 
Sacred to peace and thought and calm repose, 

Well in tliy breast that elder generation 
Their place of burial chose. 



WEST POINT. 265 

And well, to-day, wheue'er the sad procession 

Moves o'er the plain, with slow and measured tread. 

Within thy silent and secure possession 
The living leave the dead. 

Tew are the graves, for here no populous city 
Eeeds, with its myriad Uves, the hungry Fates, 

While hourly funerals, led by grief or pity. 
Crowd through the open gates. 

Here Death is rarer, yet full many a token 
Tells of his presence, on these grassy slopes, — 

The slab, the stone, the shaft, half reared and broken, 
Symbol of shattered hopes. 

Here sleep brave men who, in the deadly quarrel. 
Fought for their country, and their life-blood poured, 

Above whose dust she carves the deathless laurel 
Wreathing the victor's s^'ord. 

And here the young cadet, in manly beauty, 

Eorne from the tents which skirt those rocky banks. 

Called from life's daily drill and perilous duty 
To these unbroken ranks. 

Here too the aged man, the wife, the maiden. 
Together hushed, as on His faithful breast, 

Who cried, " Come hither, all ye heavy-laden. 
And I will give you rest ! " 

And little gravestones through the grass are gleaming, 
Sown, like the lilies, over forms as fair. 



26Q POEMS OF PLACES. 

Of whom, to-day, what broken hearts are dreaming. 
Through Sabbath song and prayer. 

Peace to the sleepers ! may the bud and blossom, 
Spring's early bloom and Summer's sweet increase, 

Tail not, while Nature, on her tender bosom, 
Polds them and whispers, Peace ! 

And here at last who could not rest contented? 

Beneath, — the river, with its tranquil flood ; 
Around, — the breezes of the morning, scented 

With odors from the wood ; 

Above, — the eternal hills, their shadows blending 

•With morn and noon and twilight's deepening pall; 

And overhead, — the infinite heavens, attending 

Until the end of all ! 

William Allen Butler. 



White Lake, N. Y. \ 

WHITE LAKE. 

PURE as their parent springs ! how bright 
The silvery waters stretch away, 
Peposing in the pleasant light 
Of June's most lovely day. 

Curving around the eastern side, 

Pich meadows slope their banks, to meet, j 

With fringe of grass and fern, tlie tide 

Wliich sparkles at their feet. J 




" As when the hermit waters woke 

Beneath the Indian's bark." See page 



WHITE LAKE. 267 

Here, busy life attests tliat toil, 

With its quick talisman, lias made 
Fields greeu aud waving, from a soil 

Of rude and savage shade. 

While opposite, the forest lies 

In giant sliadow, black and deep, 
Filling with leaves the circling sky, 

And frowning in its sleep. 

Amid this scene of light and gloom, 
Tvature with art links hand in hand, 

Thick woods beside soft rural bloom, 
As by a seer's command. 

Here, waves the grain ; here, curls the smoke ; 

The orchard bends : there, wilds as dark 
As when the hermit waters woke 

Beneath the Indian's bark. 

Oft will the panther's startling shriek 
With the herd's quiet lowings swell, 

The wolfs fierce howl terrific break 
Upon the shcepfold's bell. 

The ploughman sees the wind- winged deer 

Dart from his covert to the wave, 
And fearless in its mirror clear 

His branching antlers lave. 

Here, the green headlands seem to meet 
So near, a fairy bridge might cross; 



268 POEMS or places. 

There, spreads tlie broad and limpid sheet 
In smooth, unruffled gloss. 

Arched by the thicket's screening leaves, 

A lilied harbor lurks below, 
Wliere on the sand each ripple weaves 

Its melting wreath of snow. 

Hark ! hke an organ's tones, the woods 
To the light wind in murmurs wake, 

The voice of the vast solitudes 
Is speaking to the lake. 

The fanning air-breath sweeps across 
On its broad patli of sparkles now. 

Bends down the violet to the moss. 
Then melts upon my brow. 

Alfred Billings Street. 



WiUewemoc, the River, N, Y. 

THE WILLEWEMOC IN SUMMER. 

BUBBLING within some basin green 
So fringed with fern, the woodcock's bill 
Scarce penetrates the leafy screen. 

Leaps into life the infant rill. 
Oozing along, a winding streak. 
O'er moss and grass, it whispers meek. 
Then swelling o'er some barrier root 



WILLEWEMOC, THE KIVER. 269 

The liny ripples onward shoot. 
Then the clear sparkling waters spread 
And deepen down their sloping bed. 
Until, a streamlet bright and strong, 
The Willewemoc ghdes along 
Through its wild forest depths, to bear 
Its homage to the Delaware. 

Now pebbly shallows, where the deer 

Just bathes his crossing hoof, and now 
Broad hollowed creeks, that, deep and clear, 

Would whelm him to his antlercd brow. 
Here, the smooth silver sleeps so still. 
The ear might catch the faintest trill; 
The bee's low hum, the whir of wings. 
And the sweet songs of grass-hid things. 
There, dashing by, in booming shocks. 

So loud their wrath the waters wreak, 
Mid floating trees and scattered rocks. 

They drown the fierce gray eagle's shriek. 
Here, the slight cowslip from the moss 
In ripples breaks the amber gloss ; 
There, the whirled spray-showers upward fly 
To the slant firs crag-rooted high. 

Blue sky, pearl cloud, and golden beam 
Beguile my steps this summer day, 

Beside the lone and lovely stream, 

And through its sylvan scenes to stray: 

The moss, too delicate and soft 

To bear the tripping bird aloft. 



270 POEMS OF PLACES. \ 

Slopes its green velvet to the sedge, 
Tufting the mirrored water's edge, 
Where the slow eddies wrinkling creep 
Mid swaying grass in stillness deep : 
The sweet wind scarce has breath to turn 

The edges of the leaves, or stir 

The fragile wreath of gossamer I 

Embroidered on yon, clump of fern. | 

The stream incessant greets my ear | 

In hollow dashings, full round tones, j 

Purling through alder branches here, j 

There gurgling o'er the tinkling stones ; ' 

The rumble of the waterfall 

Majestic sounding over all. \ 

Before me spreads the sheltered pool, 
Pictured with tree-shapes black and cool ; j 

Here, the roofed water seems to be i 

A solid mass of ebony ; I 

There, the broad surface glances bright 
In dazzling gleams of spangled light; 
Now the quick darting waterfly 
Ploughs its light furrow, skimming by. 
While circling o'er in mazy rings i 

The chirping swallow dips his wings ; J 

Kelieved against yon sunny glare \ 

The gnat-swarms, dust-like, speck the air; 
Prom yon deep cove where lily-gems j 

Are floating by their silken stems. 
Out glides the dipping duck, to seek 
The narrow windings of the creek, | 

The glitterings of his purple back ^ 



WILLEWEMOC, THE RITER. 271 

Disclosing far his sinuous track ; ] 

Now, sliding down yon grassy brink, 1 
I see tlic otter plunge and sink. 

Yon bubbling streak betrays his rise, i 

And through the furrowing sheet he plies. 1 

The aspen shakes, the hemlock hums, 

Damp with the shower the west-wind comes; 

Rustling in heaps the quivering grass, 

It darkening dots the streamlet's glass. 

And rises with the herald-breeze 

The cloud's dark umber o'er the trees; 

A veil of gauze-like mist it flings, 

Dimples the stream with transient rings, ; 

And soon beneath this tent-like tree 1 

The swift, bright glancing streaks I see. 

And hear around in murmuring strain , 

The gentle music of the rain. 

Then bursts the sunshine warm and gay, I 

The misty curtain melts away, j 

The cloud in fragments breaks, and through 

Trembles in spots the smiling blue ; 

A fresh, damp sweetness fills the scene, i 

From dripping leaf and moistened earth, 1 

The odor of the wintergreen 

Floats on the airs that now have birth; 
Dashes and air-bells all about 
Proclaim the gambols of the trout. 

And calling bush and answering tree ; 

Echo with woodland melody. 
Now the piled west in pomp displays 



273 POEMS OF PLACES. ' 

Tlie radiant forms that sunset weaves ; 
And slanting lines of golden haze ' 

Are streaming through the sparkling leaves. j 

A clear, sweet, joyous strain is heard,— i 

It is the minstrel mocking-bird. 
The strain of every songster floats 

Within his rich and splendid notes; j 

The bluebird's warble, brief and shrill; *■ 

The waihng of the whippoorwill ; 
The robin's call, the jay's harsh screech. 
His own sweet music heard through each. 
His three-toned anthem now he sings, 
Liquid and low and soft it rings ; 
Then rising with a swell more clear. 
It melts upon the bending ear. 
Till with a piercing, flourished flight. 
He bids the darkening scene good night. 

Alfred Billings Street. 



Wilmington, DeL i 

ST. JOHN'S CHURCH. \ 

FOUNDED BY ALEXIS I. DU PONT. \ 

NEVEH of dust beneath did sculptured tomb 
So eloquently speak as this gray spire i 

Of thee, laborer without hire, whose day ] 

Closed with the noon, thy Master calling tliee ; 

Straight from the field before thy work was done j 

1 



WYALUSING, THE LAKE. 273 

To rest with liim above. Before tliy work 
Was done ? We dare not say of thee, whose life 
Was filled to overflowing with good deeds 
Who crowded labors in the noontide hour 
So vast as this, that aught was left undone. 
No. Blessed be He who set thee to thy task, 
And when the hours of servitude were o'er 
Redeemed the promise of our Christ, and called 
Thee home to glories of thy heritage. 

* ♦ * 

A7ionymous. 



Wyalusing, the Lake, Pa. 

LAKE WYALUSING. 

JOY like a wave o'erflowed my soul, 
While looking on its basin round. 
That fancy named a sparkling bowl 

By hoop of fadeless emerald bound, 
From which boon Nature's holy hand 
Baptized the nymphs of mountain land. 

It blushes in the morning's glow. 
And glitters in the sunset ray, 

Wlicn brooks that run far, far below 
Have murmured out farewell to day; 

The moonlight on its placid breast. 

When dark the valley, loves to rest. 



274 POEMS OF PLACES. j 

1 

Wheeling in circles overhead, ! 

The feathered king a war-scream gave ; 
His form, with pinion wide outspread, 

Was traced so clearly on the wave, 
That seemingly its glass was stirred ] 

By flappings of the gallant bird. 

Not far away were rocky shelves J 

With the soft moss of ages lined. 
And seated there a row of elves 

By moonlight would the poet find: ' 

dairies, from slumber in the shade 
Waking with soft-voiced serenade. 

The waters slept, by wind uncurled, I 

Encircled by a zone of green : 

The reflex of some purer world ; 

Within their radiant blue was seen, — 

I felt, while musing on the shore, ^ 

As if strong wings my soul upbore. \ 

Lake, flashing in the mountain's crown! i 

Thought pictures thee some diamond bright, — 

That dawn had welcomed, — fallen down 
From the starred canopy of night ; 

Or chrysolite, by thunder rent 

Prom Heaven's eternal battlement. 

William Henry Cuyler Hosmer. 

i 



WYOMING. 



275 



Wyoming^ Pa. 

WYOMING. 

ON Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming ! 
Although the wild-flower, on thy ruined wall 
And roofless homes a sad remembrance bring 
Of what thy gentle people did befall, 
Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all 
That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore. 
Sweet land ! may I thy lost delights recall, 
And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore. 
Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania's shore. 

Delightful Wyoming ! beneath thy skies 
The happy shepherd swains had naught to do, 
But feed their flocks on green dechvities, 
Or skim, perchance, thy lake with light canoe, 
From morn, till evening's sweeter pastime grew, 
With timbrel, when beneath the forests brown, 
The lovely maidens would the dance renew; 
And aye those sunny mountains half-way down 
Would echo flageolet from some romantic town. 

Then, where on Indian hills the dayhght takes 
His leave, how might you the flamingo see 
Disporting like a meteor on the lakes, 
And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree : 
And every sound of life was full of glee, 
Prom merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men, 



276 POEMS OF PLACES. 

While liearkening, fearing naught their revehy. 
The wild deer arched his neck from glades, and then 
Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again. 

And scarce had Wyoming of war or crime 
Heard but in transatlantic story sung. 
For here the exile met from every clime. 
And spoke in friendship every distant tongue: 
Men from the blood of warring Europe sprung, 
Were but divided by the running brook ; 
And happy where no Rhenish trumpet rung, 
On plains no sieging mine's volcano shook, 
The blue-eyed German changed his sword to pruning. 

hook. 

Thomas Campbell. 



WYOMING. 

THOU com'st, in beauty, on my gaze at last, 
" On Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming ! " 
Image of many a dream, in hours long past, 
When life was in its bud and blossoming, 
And waters, gushing from the fountain spring 
Of pure enthusiast thought, dimmed my young eyes, 
As by the poet borne, on unseen wing, 
I breathed, in fancy, 'neath thy cloudless skies, 
riie summer's air, and heard her echoed harmonies. 

I then but dreamed: thou art before me now. 

In life, a vision of the brain no more. 

I 've stood upon the wooded mountain's brow. 



WYOMING. 277 

That beetles iiigli tliy lovely valley o'er; 
And now, where winds thy river's greenest shore, 
"VVitiiin a bower of sycamores am laid; 
And winds, as soft and sweet as ever bore 
The fragrance of wild-flowers through sun and shade. 
Are singing in the trees, whose low boughs press my 
head. 

Nature hath made thee lovelier than the power 
Even of Campbell's pen hath pictured : he 
Had woven, had he gazed one sunny hour 
Upon thy smiling vale, its scenery 
With more of truth, and made each rock and tree 
Known like old friends, and greeted from afar: 
And there are tales of sad reality, 
In the dark legends of thy border war. 
With woes of deeper tint than his own Gertrude's are. 

But Avhere are they, the beings of the mind. 

The bard's creations, moulded not of clay. 

Hearts to strange bliss and suffering assigned, — 

Young Gertrude, Albert, Waldegrave, — where are 

they ? 

We need not ask. The people of to-day 

Appear good, honest, quiet men enough, 

And hospitable too, — for ready pay ; 

With manners hke their roads, a little rough. 

And hands whose grasp is warm and welcoming, though 

tough, 

* * * 

There is a woman, widowed, gray, and old. 

Who tells you where the foot of Battle stepped 



278 POEMS OF PLACES. 



Upon their day of massacre. She told i 

Its tale, and pointed to the spot, and wept, i 

Whereon her father and five brothers slept i 

Shroudless, the bright-dreamed slumbers of the brave, | 
Wlien all the land a funeral mourning kept. 

And there wild laurels, planted on the grave i 

By Nature's hand, in air their pale red blossoms wave. | 

And on the margin of yon orchard hill 
Are marks where timeworn battlements have been, 

And in the tall grass traces linger still j 

Of "arrowy frieze and wedged ravelin." | 

Five hundred of her brave that valley green i 

Trod on the morn in soldier-spirit gay ; \ 

But twenty lived to tell the noonday scene, — ' 

And where are now the twenty? Passed away. , 

Has Death no triumph-hours, save on the battle-day ? ^ 

Fitz-Greene Halleck. \ 



THE END. 



WESTERN STATES, 



: 30 1832 J 






IIsT T E O D U T O E Y 



THE FAR WEST. 



F 



AR in tlie West there lies a desert laud, wliere the 

mountains 
Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous 

summits. 
Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, 

like a gateway, 
Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's 

wagon. 
Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and 

Owyhee. 
Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river 

Mountains, 
Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the 

Nebraska ; 
And to the south, from rontaine-qui-bout and the 

Spanish sierras, 
Pretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind 

of the desert. 



2 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Numberless torrents, witli ceaseless sound, descend to 
the ocean, 

Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn 
vibrations. 

Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beau- 
tiful prairies. 

Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sun- 
shine, 

Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple 
amorphas. 

Over them wander the buffalo herds, and the elk and 
the roebuck; 

Over them wander the wolves, and herds of riderless 
horses ; 

Eires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary 
with travel; 

Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's 
children. 

Staining the desert with blood; and above their terri- 
ble war-trails 

Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vul- 
ture, 

Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in 
battle. 

By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens. 

Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these 
savage marauders ; 

Here and there rise groves from the marghis of swift- 
running rivers ; 

And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of 
the desert. 



INTRODUCTORY. 3 

Climbs down tlieir dark ravines to dig for roots by the 

brook-side, 
"While over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline 

heaven. 
Like the protectmg hand of God inverted above them. 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



TO THE WEST ! TO THE WEST ! 

TO the West ! to the West ! to the land of the free, 
Where mighty Missouri roUs down to the sea, 
Where a man is a man, if he's willing to tod. 
And the humblest may gather the fruits of the sod. 
Where children are blessings, and he who hath most. 
Hath aid for his fortune and riches to boast; 
Where the young may exult, and the aged may rest. 
Away, far away, to the Land of the West ! 

To the West ! to the West ! where the rivers that flow 
Run thousands of miles, spreading out as they go; 
Where the green waving forests that echo our call 
Are wide as old England, and free to us all; 
Where the prairies, Hke seas where the billows have 

rolled, 
Arc broad as the kingdoms and empires of old; 
And the lakes are like oceans in storm or in rest. 
Away, far away, to the Land of the West ! 

To the West ! to the West ! there is wealth to be won, 
The forest to clear is the work to be done ; 
We '11 try it, we 'U do it, and never despair. 



4 POEMS OF PLACES. 

While there 's liglit iu the smishiue and breath m the 

air. 
The bold independence, that labor shall buy, 
Shall strengthen our hands, and forbid us to sigh. 
Away ! far away ! let us hope for the best, 
And build up new homes in the Land of the West ! 

Charles Mackay, 



THE PIONEEKS. 

ROUSE ! brothers, rouse ! we 've far to travel, 
Free as the winds we love to roam, 
Par through the prairie, far through the forest. 

Over the mountains we'll find a home. 
We cannot breathe in crowded cities. 

We're strangers to the ways of trade; 
We long to feel the grass beneath us. 
And ply the hatchet and the spade. 

Meadows and hills and ancient woodlands 

Offer us pasture, fruit, and corn; 
Needing our presence, courting our labor ; — 

Why should we linger like men forlorn? 
We love to hear the'' ringing rifle. 

The smiting axe, the falling tree ; — 
And though our life be rough and lonely. 

If it be honest, what care we? 

Fair elbow-room for men to thrive in ! 

Wide elbow-room for work or play ! 
If cities follow, tracing our footsteps. 

Ever to westward shall point our way ! 




Land of the West." See page 5. 



INTRODUCTORY. 5' 

Rude though our life, it suits our spirit, 
And new-born States in future years 

Shall own us founders of a nation, — 
And bless the hardy pioneers. 

Charles MacTcay. 



TO THE WEST. 

LAND of the West ! — green forest-land ! 
Clime of the fair, and the immense ! 
Tavorite of Nature's liberal hand. 

And child of her munificence ! 
/ rilled with a rapture warm, intense. 
High on a cloud-girt hill I stand; 

And with clear vision gazing thence, 
Thy glories round me far expand : 

Rivers, whose likeness earth has not, 
And lakes, that elsewhere seas would be. 

Whose shores the countless wild herds dot, 
Eleet as the winds, and all as free ; 

Mountains that pierce the bending sky. 
And with the storm-cloud warfare wage. 

Shooting their glittering })caks on high. 
To mock the fierce red lightning's ragej/ 

Arcadian vales, wuth vine-hung bowers. 
And grassy nooks, 'neath becchen shade. 

Where dance the never-resting Hours, 
To music of the bright cascade ; 

Skies softly beautiful, and blue 
As Italy's, with stars as bright; 

Flowers rich as mornin^r's sunrise hue, 



6 POEMS OF PLACES. 1 

And gorgeous as the gemmed midnight. 1 

Land of the West ! green forest-land ! " 

Thus hath Creation's bounteous hand 

Upon thine ample bosom flung i 

Charms such as were her gift when the gray world ; 

was young ! ] 

i 

Land of the West ! — where naught is old 

Or fading, but tradition hoary, — 
Thy yet unwritten annals hold 

Of many a daring deed the story ! | 

Man's might of arm hath here been tried, ' 

And woman's glorious strength of soul, — 

When war's fierce shout rang far and wide, ' 

When vengeful foes at midnight stole 1 

On slumbering innocence, and gave I 

Nor onset-shout nor warning word, j 

Nor nature's strong appealings heard : 

From woman's lips, to " spare and save ] 

Her unsuspecting httle one, 1 

Her only child — her son ! her son ! " I 

Unheard the supplicating tone, : 

Which ends in now a shriek, and now a deep death- j 

groan ! J 

Land of the West ! — green forest-land ! j 

Thine early day for deeds is famed 
Which in historic page shall stand i 

Till bravery is no longer named. ' 

Thine early day ! — it nursed a band ' ; 

Of men who ne'er their lineage shamed : ! 

i 



INTRODUCTORY. 7 ; 

The iron-nerved, the bravely good, 

Who neither spared nor lavished blood, — 

Aye ready, morn, or night, or noon ; j 

Fleet in the race, firm in the field. 
Their sinewy arms their only shield, — 
Courage to Death alone to yield; i 

The men of Daniel Boone ! 
Their dwelling-place the " good green- wood " ; 

Their favorite haunts the long arcade, 
The murmuring and majestic flood, I 

The deep and solemn shade, \ 

Where to tliem came the word of God, J 

When storm and darkness were abroad, ' 

Breathed in the thunder's voice aloud, 

And writ in lightning on the cloud. 
And thus they lived: the dead leaves oft, [ 

Heaped by the playful winds, their bed ; ! 

Nor wished they couch more warm or soft. 

Nor pillow for the head 
Other than fitting root or stone, ! 

With the scant wood-moss overgrown. 
Heroic band ! But they have passed. 

As pass the stars at rise of sun. 
Melting into the ocean vast i 

Of Time, and sinking, one by one ; | 

Yet lingering here and there a few, i 

As if to take a last, long view 
Of the domain they won in strife 

With foes who battled to the knife. • 

Peace unto those that sleep beneath us ! . , 

All honor to the few that yet do linger with us ! 



8 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Land of the West ! — tliiue early prime 
Fades in the flight of hurrying Time; 
Thy noble forests fall, as sweep 
Europa's myriads o'er the deep ; 
And thy broad plains, with welcome warm, 
Receive the onward-pressing swarm : 
On mountain-height, in lowly vale. 

By quiet lake, or gliding river, — 
Wherever sweeps the chainless gale. 

Onward sweep they, and forever. 
Oh, may they come with hearts that ne'er 
Can bend a tyrant's chain to wear ; 
With souls that would indignant turn. 
And proud oppression's minions spurn; 
With nerves of steel, and words of flame, 
To strike and sear the wretch who 'd bring our land 
to shame ! 

Land of the West ! — beneath the Heaven 

There 's not a fairer, loveher clime ; 
Nor one to which was ever given 

A destiny more high, sublime. 
Trom Alleghany's base, to where 

Our Western Andes prop the sky, — 
The home of Freedom's hearts is there, — 

And o'er it Freedom's eagles fly. 
And here, should e'er Columbia's land 

Be rent with fierce intestine feud. 
Shall Freedom's latest cohorts stand, 

Till Freedom's eagles sink in blood. 
And quenched are all the stars that now her banners 
stud! 

William D. Gallagher. 



INTRODUCTORY. 



TO AN INDIAN MOUND. 



WHENCE, and why art tliou here, mysterious j 

mound ? I 

Are questions which man asks, but asks in vain ; | 

For o'er thy destinies a night profound, j 

All rayless and all echoless, doth reign. j 

A thousand years have passed like yesterday, J 

Since wintry snows first on thy bosom slept, | 

And much of mortal grandeur passed away, ! 

Since thou hast here thy voiceless vigils kept. j 

While standing thus upon thy oak-crowned head, i 

The shadows of dim ages long since gone 

Reel on my mind, like spectres of the dead, "i 

While dirge-Hke music haunts the wind's low moan. 
Erom out the bosom of the boundless Past 

There rises up no voice of thee to tell : I 

Eternal silence, like a shadow vast, j 

Broods on thy breast, and shrouds thine annals | 

well. I 

Didst thou not antedate the rise of Rome, i 

Egyptia's pyramids, and Grecian arts ? : 
Did not the wild deer here for shelter come 

Before the Tyrrhene sea had ships or marts ? 
Through shadows deep and dark the mind must pierce, 

Which glances backward to that ancient time ; 
Nations before it fall in struggles fierce, - ' 

Where human glory fades in human crime. 



10 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Upon the world's wide stage full many a scene 

Of grandeur and of gloom, of blood and blight. 
Hath been enacted since thy forests green 

Sighed in the breeze and smiled in morning's light. 
Thou didst not hear the woe, nor heed the crime. 

Which darkened earth through ages of distress ; 
Unknowing and unknown, thou stood' st sublime, 

And calmly looked upon the wilderness. 

The red man oft hath laid his aching head. 

When weary of the chase, upon thy breast; 
And as the slumberous hours fast o'er him fled, 

Has dreamed of hunting-grounds in cHmes most blest. 
Perhaps liis thoughts ranged through the long past time. 

Striving to solve the problem of thy birth. 
Till wearied out with dreams, dim though sublime. 

His fancy fluttered back to him and earth. 

The eagle soaring through the upper air 

Checks his proud flight, and glances on thy crest. 
As though his destiny were pictured there 

In the deep solitude that wraps thy breast. 
Thy reign must soon be o'er, — the human tide 

Is surging round thee like a restless sea ; 
And thou must yield thy empire and thy pride. 

And, like thy builders, soon forgotten be. 

Thomas H. Shreve. 



INTRODUCTORY. 11 



A MIRAGE OF THE WEST. 

ABOVE tlie sunken sun the clouds are fired 
With a dark splendor: the enchanted hour 
Works momentary miracles in the sky; 
Weird shadows take from fancy what they lack 
For semblance, and I see a boundless plain, 
A mist of sun and sheaves in boundless air. 
Gigantic shapes of reapers moving slow 
In some new harvest : so I can but dream 
Of my great Land, that takes its morning star 
Out of the dusky evening of the east. 
My Land, that lifted into vision gleams 
Misty and vast, a boundless plain afar 
(Like yonder fading fantasy of cloud). 
With shadowy reapers moving, vague and slow, 
In some wide harvest of the days to be, — 
A mist of sun and sheaves in boundless air ! 

John James Piatt, 



OHIO. 

CATAWBA WINE. 



T^ 



IHIS song of mine 
Is a Song of the Vine, 
To be sung by the glowing embers 
Of wayside inns. 
When the rain begins 
To darken the drear Novembers. 



12 POEMS OF PLACES. 

It is not a song 

Of the Scuppernong, 
Erom warm Carolinian valleys. 

Nor the Isabel 

And the Muscadel 
That bask in our garden alleys.- 

Nor the red Mustang, 

Whose clusters hang 
O'er the waves of the Colorado, 

And the fiery flood 

Of whose purple blood 
Has a dash of Spanish bravado. 

Tor richest and best 

Is the wine of the West, 
That grows by the Beautiful River; 

Whose sweet perfume 

rills all the room 
With a benison on the giver. 

And as hollow trees 

Are the haunts of bees, 
^Forever going and coming ; 

So this crystal hive 

Is all alive 
With a swarming and buzzing and humming. 

Very good in its way 
Is the Verzenay, 
Or the Sillery soft and creamy j 
But Catawba wine 



INTKODUCTOKY. 13 

Has a taste more divine, 
More dulcet, delicious, and dreamy. 

There grows no vijie 

By the haunted Rhine, 
By Danube or Guadalquivir, 

Nor on island or cape, 

That bears such a grape 
As grows by the Beautiful River. 

Drugged is their juice 

For foreign use. 
When shipped o'er the reeling Atlantic, 

To rack our brains 

With the fever pains, 
That have driven the Old World frantic. 

To the sewers and sinks 

With all such drinks. 
And after them tumble the mixer; 

For a poison malign 

Is such Borgia wine. 
Or at best but a Devil's EHxir. 

While pure as a spring 

Is the wine I sing. 
And to praise it, one needs but name it ; 

For Catawba wine 

Has need of no sign. 
No tavern-bush to proclaim it. 

And this Song of the Vine, 
This greeting of mine, 



14 POEMS OF PLACES. 

The winds and the birds shall deliver 
To the Queen of the West, 
In her garlands dressed. 

On the banks of the Beautiful River. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

INDIANA. 

LAND of Rivers ! Mo\^ng down 
Slow through forest, farm, and town, 
Witli his tributary streams, 
Beautiful in glooms and gleams, 

Flows the Wabash ! Yonder, see. 
Sinking fathoms under ground, 
The Lost River, lost and found, 
Prom its grave beneath the plain * 
Springing into life again. 

Laud of Rivers ! Hail to thee ! 

Land of Forests ! Wide thy vast 
Centennial oaks their shadows cast. 
In whose gnarled and hollow trunks 
Hive the bees, like cloistered monks, 

Singing their low litany. 
Through the openings far and near 
Stalks, as through a park, the deer. 
And in autumn fiery red 
Glows the foliage overhead. 

Land of Forests ! Hail to thee ! 

Land of Meadows ! where the flowers 
On their dials count the hours. 



INTRODUCTORY. '15' 

And the lowland landscape breaks 
Into little sylvan lakes, 

Garlanded with shrub and tree; 
Where the maize for miles and miles 
Lifts its green, cathedral aisles. 
And the endless fields of wheat 
Ripen in the harvest heat. 

Land of Meadows ! Hail to thee ! 

Land of Caverns ! Who knows not 

Thy wondrous Cave of Wyandot ? 

Leagues of chambers glimmering far, 

With their fretted roofs of spar. 

What, compared with this, are ye, 

Grottos of the lUyrian land ? 

Nature on a scale more grand 

Laid the timbers of these floors. 

Arched these halls and corridors. 

Land of Caverns ! Hail to thee ! 

Anonymous. 



ILLINOIS. 

LINES WRITTEN IN ILLINOIS. 

rAl^IILIAR to the chiklish mind were tales 
Of rock -girt isles amid a desert sea, 
Where unexpected stretch the flowery vales 
To soothe the shipwrecked sailor's misery. 
Fainting, he lay upon a sandy shore. 
And fancied that all hope of life was o'er ; 
But let him patient climb the frowning wall. 



16 POEMS OF PLACES. 

"Within, the orauge glows beueatli the palm-tree tall, 
And all that Eden boasted waits his call. 

Almost these tales seem realized to-day. 
When the long dulness of the sultry way. 
Where independent settlers' careless cheer 
Made us indeed feel we were strangers here. 
Is cheered by sudden sight of this fair spot, 
On which improvement yet has made no blot. 
But Nature all astonished stands, to find 
Her plan protected by the human mind. 

Blest be the kindly genius of the scene: 

The river, bending in unbroken grace; 
The stately thickets, with their pathways green; 

Eair lonely trees, each in its fittest place. 
Those thickets haunted by the deer and fawn ; 
Those cloudlike flights of birds across the lawn ; 
The gentlest breezes here delight to blow, 
And sun and shower and star are emulous to deck the 
show. 

Wondering, as Crusoe, we survey the land ; 
Happier than Crusoe we, a friendly band : 

Blest be the hand that reared this friendly home. 
The heart and mind of him to whom we owe 
Hours of pure peace such as few mortals know; 

May he find such, should he be led to roam, — 
Be tended by such ministering sprites, — 
Enjoy such gayly childish days, such hopeful nights. 
Ajid yet, amid the goods to mortals given. 
To give those goods again is most like Heaven. 

Margaret Taller If Ossoli. 



INTRODUCTORY. 



FIRES IN ILLINOIS. 



17 



HOW briglit tliis weird autumnal eve — 
While the wild twilight clings around, 
Clothing the grasses everywhere. 
With scarce a dream of sound ! 

The high horizon's northern line. 
With many a silent-leaping spire. 

Seems a dark shore, — a sea of flame, — 
Quick, crawling waves of fire ! 

I stand in dusky solitude, 

October breathing low and chill. 

And watch the far-off blaze that leaps 
At the wind's wayward will. 

These boundless fields, behold, once more. 
Sea-like in vanished summers stir; 

From vanished autumns comes the Tire,— 
A lone, bright harvester! 

I see wide terror lit before, — 

Wild steeds, fierce herds of bison here. 

And, blown before the flying flame. 
The flying-footed deer! 

Long trains (with shaken bells, that moved 
Along red twilights sinking slow) 

Whose wheels grew weary on their way, 
Tar westward, long ago; 



POEMS OF PLACES. 

Loue wagons bivouacked in tlie blaze. 
That, long ago, streamed wildly past; 

Faces from that bright solitude 
In the hot gleam aghast ! 

A glare of faces like a dream. 

No history after or before. 
Inside the horizon with the flames, 

The flames, — nobody more ! 

That vision vanishes in me. 

Sudden and swift and fierce and bright; 
Another gentler vision fills 

The sohtude, to-night : 

The horizon lightens everywhere, 

The sunshine rocks on windy maize; 

Hark, everywhere are busy men, 
And children at their plays ! 

Tar church-spires twinkle at the sun, 

From villages of quiet born, 
And, far and near, and everywhere, 

Homes stand amid the corn. 

No longer driven by wind, the Fire 

Makes all the vast horizon glow, 

But, numberless as the stars above. 

The windows shine below ! 

John James 'Piatt. 



INTRODUCTORY. 



ELSIE IN ILLINOIS. 



19 



K 



[OME is home, no matter wliere ! " 
Sang a happy, yontliful pair. 
Journeying westward, years ago, — 
As tliey left the April snow 
White on Massachusetts' shore; 
Left the sea's incessant roar; 
Left the Adirondacks, piled 
Like the playthings of a child. 
On the horizon's eastern bound; 
And, the unbroken forests found, 
Heard Niagara's sullen call. 
Hurrying to his headlong fall, 
Like a Titan in distress, 
Tearmg through the wilderness. 
Rending earth apart, in hate 
Of the unpitying hounds of fate. 

Over Erie's green expanse 
Inland wildfowl weave their dance: 
Lakes on lakes, a crystal chain. 
Give the clear heaven back again; — 
Wampum strung by [Manitou, 
Lightly as the beaded dew. 

Is it wave, or is it shore? — 
Greener gleams the prairie-floor. 
West and south, one emerald; 
Earth untenanted, unwalled. 



20 POEMS OF PLACES. 

There, a thread of silent joy, 
Winds the grass-hid Illinois. 

Bringing comfort unawares 
Out of little daily cares, 
Here has Elsie lived a year. 
Learning well that home is dear. 
By the green breadth measureless 
Of the outside wilderness, 
So unshadowed, so immense ! 
Garden without path or fence, 
Boiling up its billowy bloom 
To her low, one-windowed room. 

Breath of prairie -flowers is sweet; 
But the baby at her feet 
Is the sweetest bud to her, 
Keeping such a pleasant stir. 
On the cabin hearth at play. 
While his father turns the hay, 
Loads the grain, or binds the stack. 
Until sunset brings him back. 

Elsie's thoughts awake must keep. 
While the baby lies asleep. 
Ear Niagara haunts her ears ; 
Mississippi's rush she hears ; 
Ancient nurses twain, that croon 
Eor her babe their mighty tune. 
Lapped upon the prairies wild: 
He will be a wondrous child! 



i 
INTRODUCTORY. 21 j 

Ah ! but Elsie's thoughts will stray ! 

Where, a child, she used to play- 
In the shadow of the pines : i 
Moss and scarlet-berried vines 

Carpeted the granite ledge, i 

Sloping to the brooklet's edge. 
Sweet with violets, blue and white; 
While the dandelions, bright 
As if Night had spilt her stars, 
Shone beneath the rneadow-bars. 

Could she hold her babe, to look 

In that merry, babbling brook, — 

See it picturing his eye '^ 

As the violet's blue and shy, — i 

See his dimpled fingers creep 

Where the sweet-breathed Mayflowers peep 

With pale pink anemones, 

Out among the budding trees! — 

On his soft cheek falls a tear 

For the hillside home so dear. 

At her household work she dreams; 
And the endless prairie seems 
Like a broad, unmeaning face 
Ecad through in a moment's space, 
Where the smile so fixed is grown. 
Better you would hke a frown. 

Elsie sighs, ''We learn too late, 
Little things are more tlian great. 
Hearts like ours must daily be 



22 POEMS OF PLACES. 

I'ed with some kind mystery. 
Hidden in a rocky nook. 
Whispered from a wayside brook, 
Flashed on unexpecting eyes. 
In a winged, swift surprise: 
Small the pleasure is to trace 
Boundlessness of commonplace." 

But the «outh-wind, stealing in, 
Her to happier moods will win. 
In and out the little gate 
Creep wild roses delicate : 
Fragrant grasses hint a tale 
Of the blossomed intervale 
Left behind, among the hills. 
Every flower-cup mystery fills; 
Every idle breeze goes by, 
Burdened with life's bhssful sigh. 

Elsie hums a thoughtful air; 

Spreads the table, sets a chair 

Where her husband first shall see 

Baby laughing on her knee ; 

While she watches him afar. 

Coming with the evening star 

Through the prairie, through the sky, 

Each as from eternity. 

Lucy Larcom. 



INTRODUCTORY. 23 

MICHIGAN. i 

GEEHALE : AN INDIAN LAMENT. 

THE blackbird is singing on Michigan's shore 
As sweetly and gayly as ever before; j 

For he knoAvs to his mate he at pleasure can hie, j 

And the dear little brood she is teaching to fly. 

The sun looks as ruddy, and rises as bright, . 

And reflects o'er the mountains as beamy a light j 

As it ever reflected, or ever expressed, j 

When my skies were the bluest, my dreams were the 
best. 

The fox and the panther, both beasts of the night. 
Retire to their dens on the gleaming of light, j 

And they spring with a free and a sorrowless track, * 

Tor they know that their mates are expecting them j 

back. 
Each bird and each beast, it is blessed in degree : 
All nature is cheerful, all happy, but me. 

I will go to my tent, and lie down in despair; 
I will paint me with black, and will sever my hair; 
I will sit on the shore, where the hurricane blows. 
And reveal to the god of the tempest my woes ; 
I will weep for a season, on bitterness fed. 
For my kindred are gone to the hills of the dead ; 
But tliey died not by hunger or lingering decay ; 
The steel of the white man hath swept them away. 



24 POEMS OF PLACES. 

This snake-skin, that once I so sacredly wore, 
I will toss, with disdain, to the storm-beaten shore : 
Its charms I no longer obey or invoke. 
Its spirit hath left me, its spell is now broke. 
I will raise up my voice to the source of the light; 
I will dream on the wings of the bluebird at night; 
I will speak to the spirits that whisper in leaves. 
And that minister balm to the bosom that grieves; 
And will take a new Manito, — such as shall seem 
To be kind and propitious in every dream. 

Oh, then I shall banish these cankering sighs, 
And tears shall no longer gush salt from my eyes; 
I shall wash from my face every cloud-colored stain; 
Red — red shall alone on my visage remain! 
I will dig up my hatchet, and bend my oak bow; 
By night and by day I will follow the foe; 
Nor lakes shall impede me, nor mountains, nor snows ; 
His blood can, alone, give my spirit repose. 

They came to my cabin when heaven was black: 
I heard not their coming, I knew not their track; 
But I saw, by the light of their blazing fnsees, 
They were people engendered beyond the big seas : 
My wife and my children, — oh, spare me the tale ! — 
Tor who is there left that is kin to Geehale? 

Henry Rowe Schoolcraft. 



INTRODUCTORY. 25 

I 

I 
KENTUCKY. ' 

OVER IN KENTUCKY. 

"rpHIS is tlie smokiest city in the world," 

i A slight voice, wise and weary, said, " I know. i 

My sfish is tied, and, if my hair was curled, , 

I 'd like to have my prettiest hat and go \ 

There where some violets had to stay, you said. 
Before your tom-up butterflies were dead — 

Over in Kentucky." i 

Then one whose half-sad face still wore the hue 

The North Star loved to light and linger on, 
Before the war, looked slowly at me too. 

And darkly whispered: "What is gone is gone. i 

Yet, though it may be better to be free, ] 

I 'd rather have things as they used to be j 

Over in Kentucky." i 



Perhaps I thought how fierce the master's hold. 
Spite of all armies, kept the slave within; 

How iron chains, when broken, turned to gold. 
In empty cabins, where glad songs had been 

Before the Southern sword knew blood and rust, 

Before wild cavalry sprang from the dust. 

Over in Kentucky. 

Pei-I^aps — But, since two eyes, half full of tears. 
Half full of sleep, would love to keep awake 



26 POEMS OF PLACES. / j 

) 

With fairy pictures from my fairy years^ J 

I have a phantom pencil that can make • 

Shadows of moons, far back and faint, to rise j 

On dewier grass and in diviner skies, j 

Over in Kentucky. \ 

Tor yonder river, wider than the sea, i 

Seems sometimes in the dusk a visible moan 1 

Between two worlds, — one fair, one dear to me. ; 
The fair has forms of ever-glimmering stone, 

Weird-whispering ruin, graves where legends hide, i 

And lies in mist upon the charmed side, j 

Over in Kentucky. ; 

The dear has restless, dimpled, pretty hands, ] 

Yearning toward unshaped steel, unfancied wars, 
Unbuilded cities, and unbroken lands, 

With something sweeter than the faded stars 
And dim, dead dews of my lost romance, found 
In beauty that has vanished from the ground 

Over in Kentucky. 
Sarah Morga^i Bryan Piatt. 



MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME. 

THE sun shines bright in our old Kentucky home; 
^T is summer, the darkeys are gay ; 
The com top 's ripe and the meadow 's in the bloom, 

While the birds make music all the day; 
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor. 
All merry, all happy, all bright; 



INTRODUCTORY. 27 

By'm by hard times comes a knockin' at the door, — 
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night! 

CHORUS. 

Weep no more, my lady ; oh, weep no more to-day ! 
We '11 sing one song for my old Kentucky home, 
Tor our old Kentucky home far away. 

They hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon, 

On the meadow, the hill, and the shore; 
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon. 

On the bench by the old cabin door; 
The day goes by, like a shadow o'er the heart. 

With sorrow where all was delight; 
The time has come, when the darkeys have to part, 

Then, my old Kentucky home, good night ! 
Weep no more, my lady, etc. 

The head must bow, and the back will have to bend. 

Wherever the darkey may go ; 
A few more days, and the troubles all will end, 

In the field where the sugar-cane grow; 
A few more days to tote the weary load, 

No matter it will never be light; 
A few more days till we totter on the road. 

Then, my old Kentucky home, good night ! 
Weep no more, my lady, etc. 

Stephen C. Foster. 



POEMS OF PLACES. 

TENNESSEE. 

" MY NATIVE LAND, MY TENNESSEE I '* 
[Written for Mrs. W. Barrow.} 

THE sanset flings upon the sea 
Its golden gush of life and light; 
The waves with pleasant melody 

On the white sands are sparkling bright; 
Old Ocean, round his many isles, 
Like a fair infant sleeping, smiles : 
So would I sleep, and dream of thee. 
My own, my native land, my Tennessee ! 

Tall mountains with their snowy cones, 
Tar inland, bathed in sunshine, blaze; 

Like gray-haired giants on their thrones. 

Crowned with the young dawn's golden rays. 

Toward them I lean, and fain would lie 

At the feet of those that pierce thy sky. 
Thou dearest land on earth to me, 
My own, my native land, my Tennessee ! 

Landward and swift the sea-bird flies. 
Dipping his strong and nervous wings 

In the blue wave, as home he hies, 
A truant, from his wanderings. 

He goes to seek his gentle mate. 

His young, with longing eyes that wait: 
So would I fain haste home to thee. 
My own, my native land, my Tennessee! 



INTRODUCTORY. 39 

Existence ! 't is but toil and strife, — • 

Yet I '11 not murmur or repine, 
So that the sunset of my life, 

Sweet day, be clear and calm as thine ; 
So that I take my last, long rest, 
Dear native land, in thy loved breast: 

Land of the gallant and the free ! 

My native, native land, my Tennessee ! 

Albert Tike. 



KANSAS. 

THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 

WE cross the prairie as of old 
The pilgrims crossed the sea, 
To make the West, as they the East, 
The homestead of the free ! 

We go to rear a "wall of men 
On Freedom's southern line. 

And plant beside the cotton-tree 
The rugged Northern pine ! 

We 're flowing from our native hills 

As our free rivers flow ; 
The blessing of our Mother-land 

Is on us as we go. 

We go to plant her common schools 

*'0n distant prairie swells, 
And give the Sabbaths of the wild 
The music of her bells. 



30 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Upbearing, like the Ark of old, 

The Bible iu our van. 
We go to test the ti'uth of God 

Against the fraud of man. 

No pause, nor rest, save where the streams 

That feed the Kansas run, 
Save where our Pilgrim gonfalon 

Shall flout the setting sun ! 

We '11 tread the prairie as of old 

Our fathers sailed the sea, 
And make the West, as they the East, 

The homestead of the free ! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



ARKANSAS. 

SUNSET IN ARKANSAS. 

SUNSET again! Behind the massy green 
Of the continuous oaks the sun hath fallen, 
And his last rays have struggled through, between 
The leaf-robed branches, as hopes intervene 

Amid grave cares. The western sky is wallen 

With shadowy mountains, built upon the marge 
Of the horizon, from eve's purple sheen. 
And thin, gray clouds, that insolently lean 

Their silver cones upon the crimson verge 
Of the high zenith, while their uuseen base 

Is rocked by lightning. It will show its eye 
When dusky Night comes. Eastward, you can trace 



INTRODUCTORY. 81 

No stain, no spot of cloud upon a sky, 

Pure as an angel's brow. 
The winds have folded up their swift wings now, 
And, all asleep, liigli up in their cloud-cradles lie. 

Beneath the trees, the dusky, purple glooms 

Are growing deeper, more material, 
In wmdless sohtude. The young flower-blooms 
Richly exhale their thin, invisible plumes 

Of odor, which they yield not at the call 

Of the hot sun. The birds all sleep within 
Unshaken nests; save the gray owl, that booms 
His plaintive cry, like one that mourns strange 
dooms ; 

And the sad whippoorwill, with lonely din. 
There is a deep, calm beauty all around, 

A heavy, massive, melancholy look, 
A unison of lonely sight and sound. 

Which touch us, till the soul can hardly brook 
Its own sad feelings here. 

They do not wring from the full heart a tear. 

But give us heavy thoughts, like reading a sad book. 

* * * 

Albert Pike. 
MINNESOTA. 

THE MINNESOTA WATER-SHED. 

BEHOLD the rocky wall 
That down its sloping sides 
Pours the swift rain-drops, blending, as they fall. 
In rushing river-tides ! 



32 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Yon stream, whose sources run 

Turned by a pebble's edge, ' 

Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun 

Through the cleft mountam-ledge. ; 

The slender rill had strayed, I 

But for the slanting stone, ' 

To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid 
Of foam-flecked Oregon. 

So from the heights of Will \ 

Life's parting stream descends, "~ ; 
And, as a moment turns its slender rill, 

Each widening torrent bends, — i 

From the same cradle's side, 

From the same mother's knee, — 

One to long darkness and the frozen tide, : 

One to the Peaceful Sea ! j 

Oliver JFendell Holmes. > 



CALIFOENIA. 

I STAND beside the mobile sea; 
And sails are spread, and sails are furled 
Trom farthest corners of the world, 
And fold like white wings wearily. 
Steamships go up, and some go down 
In haste, like traders in a town. 
And seem to see and beckon all. 
Afar at sea some white shapes flee. 
With arms stretched like a ghost's to me. 



INTRODUCTORY. 33 

And cloud-like sails far blown and curled, 
Then glide down to the under-world. 
As if blown bare in winter blasts 
Of leaf and limb, tall naked masts 
Are rising from the restless sea. 
So still and desolate and tall, 
I seem to see them gleam and shine 
With clinging drops of dripping brine. 
Broad still brown wings flit here and there. 
Thin sea-blue wings wheel everywhere. 
And white wings whistle through the air: 
I hear a thousand sea-gulls call. 

Behold the ocean on the beach 
Kneel lowly down as if in prayer. 
I hear a moan as of despair. 
While far at sea do toss and reach 
Some things so like white pleading hands. 
The ocean's thin and hoary hair 
Is trailed along the silvered sands, 
At every sigh and sounding moan. 
'Tis not a place for mirthfulness, 
But meditation deep, and prayer. 
And kneelings on the salted sod, 
Wliere man must own Lis littleness 
And know the mightiness of God. 
The very birds shriek in distress 
And sound the ocean's monotone. 

Dared I but say a prophecy, 
As sang the holy men of old, 



34 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Of rock-built cities yet to be 
Along these shining shores of gold. 
Crowding athirst into the sea, 
What wondrous marvels might be told ! 
Enough, to know that empire here 
Shall burn her loftiest, brightest star ; 
Here art and eloquence shall reign. 
As o'er the wolf-reared realm of old; 
Here learned and famous from afar. 
To pay their noble court, shall come, 
And shall not seek or see in vain. 
But look on all with wonder dumb. 

Afar the bright Sierras lie 
A swaying line of snowy white, 
A fringe of heaven hung in sight 
Against the blue base of the sky. 

I look along each gaping gorge, 
I hear a thousand sounding strokes 
Like giants rending giant oaks, 
Or brawny Vulcan at his forge ; 
I see pickaxes flash and shine 
And great wheels whirling in a mine. 
Here winds a thick and yellow thread, 
A mossed and silver stream instead ; 
And trout that leaped its rippled tide 
Have turned upon their sides and died. 

Lo ! when the last pick in the mine 
Is rusting red with idleness, 



INTRODUCTORY. 35 

And rot yon cabins in tlic mould, 
And Avlieels no more croak in distress, 
And tall pines reassert command, ^ 
Sweet bards along tliis sunset sliore 
Their mellow melodies will pour; 
Will charm as charmers very wise, 
Will strike the harp with master hand, 
Will sound unto the vaulted skies 
The valor of these men of old, — 
The mighty men of 'Eorty-nine ; 
Will sweetly sing and proudly say. 
Long, long agone there was a day 
When there were giants in the land. 

Joaquin 3IiUer. 



CALIFORNIA. 

LAND of gold ! — thy sisters greet thee. 
O'er the mountain and the main; 
See, — they stretch the hand to meet thee. 
Youngest of our household tram. 

Many a form their love hath fostered 
Lingers 'neath thy sunny sky, 

And their spirit-tokens brighten 
Every link of sympathy. 

We mid storms of war were cradled 
Mid the shock of angry foes ; 

Thou, with sudden, dreamlike splendor, 
Pallas-born, — in vigor rose. 



36 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Cliildren of one common country. 
Strong in friendsliip let us stand. 

With united ardor eariiinsr 
Glory for our Motlier Land. 

Tliey of gold and they of iron, 
They who reap the bearded wheat. 

They who rear the snowy cotton, 
Pour their treasures at her feet ; 

While with smiling exultation. 
She, who marks their filial part, 

Like the mother of the Gracclii, 
Folds her jewels to her heart. 

Lydia Huntley Sigourney. 



THE CANON. 

I STAND upon a stony rim. 
Stone-paved and patterned as a street 
A rock -lipped canon plunging south, 
As if it were earth's opened mouth. 
Yawns deep and darkling at my feet; 
So deep, so distant, and so dim 
Its waters wind, a yellow thread, 
And call so faintly and so far, 
I turn aside my swooning head. 
I feel a fierce impulse to leap 
Adown the beetling precipice, 
Like some lone, lost, uncertain star; 




From towers undefiled by man." See page 37. 



INTRODUCTORY. 37 

To plunge into a place unknown, 
And win a world all, all my own; 
Or if I might not meet tliat bliss, 
At least eseape the eurse of this. 

I gaze again. A gleaming star 
Shines back as from some mossy well 
Refleeted from blue fields afar. 
Brown hawks are wheeling here and there, 
And up and down the broken wall 
Cling clumps of dark green chaparral, 
While from the rent rocks, gray and bare. 
Blue junipers hang in the air. 

Here, cedars sweep the stream, and here. 
Among the boulders mossed and brown 
That time and storms have toppled down 
From towers undefded by man. 
Low cabins nestle as in fear. 
And look no taller than a span. 
Erom low and shapeless chimneys rise 
Some tall straight columns of blue smoke. 
And weld them to the bluer skies; 
While sounding down the sombre gorge 
I hear the steady pickaxe stroke. 
As if upon a flashing forge. 

Another scene, another sound ! — 
Sharp shots are fretting through the air. 
Red knives are flashing everywhere. 
And here and there the yellow flood 



38 POEMS or PLACES. 

Is purpled witli warm smoking blood. 
The brown hawk swoops low to the ground. 
And nimble chipmonks, small and still. 
Dart striped lines across the sill 
That lordly feet shall press no more. 
The flume lies warping in the sun. 
The pan sits empty by the door. 
The pickaxe on its bed-rock floor 
Lies rusting in the silent mine. 
There comes no single sound nor sign 
Of life, beside yon monks in brown 
That dart their dim shapes up and down 
The rocks that swelter in the sun; 
But dashing round yon rocky spur 
Where scarce a hawk would dare to whir, 
riy horsemen reckless in their flight. 
One wears a flowing black capote, 
While down the cape doth flow and float 
Long locks of hair as dark as night, 
And hands are red that erst were white. 

All up and down the land to-day 
Black desolation and despair 
It seems have sat and settled there. 
With none to frighten them away. 
Like sentries watching by the way 
Black chimneys topple in the air, 
And seem to say, Go back, beware ! 
While up around the mountain's rim 
Are clouds of smoke, so still and grim 
They look as they are fastened there. 



INTRODUCTORY. 39 

A lonely stillness, so like death, 
So touches, terrifies all things. 
That even rooks that fly o'erhead 
Are hushed, and seem to hold their breath, 
To fly with mufiled wings, 
And heavy as if made of lead. 
Some skulls that crumble to the touch, 
Some joints of thin and chalk-like bone, 
A tall black chimney, all alone, 
That leans as if upon a crutch. 
Alone are left to mark or tell, 
Instead of cross or cryptic stone, 
Where fair maids loved or brave men fell. 

Joaquin Miller, 



CALIFORNIA'S GREETING TO SEWARD. 

1869. 

WE know him well: no need of praise 
Or bonfire from the windy hill 
To light to softer paths and ways 
The world- worn man we honor still; 

No need to quote those truths he spoke 

That burned through years of war and shame. 

While History carves with surer stroke 
Across our map his noonday fame; 

No need to bid him show the scars 
Of blows dealt by the Scoeau gate. 



40 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Who lived to pass its shattered bars, 
And see the foe capitulate; 

Who lived to turn his slower feet 

Toward the western setting sun, 
To see his harvest all complete, 

His dream fulfilled, his duty done, — 

The one flag streaming from the pole. 
The one faith borne from sea to sea, — 

Por such a triumph, and such goal. 
Poor must our human greeting be. 

Ah! rather that the conscious land 
In simpler ways salute the Man, — 

The tall pines bowing where they stand, 
The bared head of El Capitan, 

The tumult of the waterfalls, 

Pohono's kerchief in the breeze. 
The waving from the rocky walls. 

The stir and rustle of the trees ; 

Till lapped in sunset skies of hope, 

In sunset lands by sunset seas. 

The Young World's Premier treads the slope 

Of sunset years in calm and peace. 

Bret Harte, 



INTRODUCTORY. 41 



ON LEAVING CALIFORNIA. 



OFAIR young land, the youngest, fairest far 
Of which our world can boast, — 
Whose guardian planet. Evening's silver star, 
lUumes thy golden coast, — 

How art thou conquered, tamed in all the pride 

Of savage beauty still ! 
How brought, O panther of the splendid hide, 

To know thy master's will ! 

No more thou sittest on thy tawny hills 

In indolent repose ; 
Or pourest the crystal of a thousand rills 

Down from thy house of snows. 

But where the wild-oats wrapped thy knees in gold, 

The ploughman drives his share, 
And where, through caiions deep, thy streams are rolled. 

The miner's arm is bare. 

Yet in thy lap, thus rudely rent and torn, 

A nobler seed shall be : 
Mother of mighty men, tliou shalt not mourn 

Thy lost virginity ! 

Thy human children shall restore the grace 
Gone with thy fallen pines : 



42 POEMS OF PLACES. 

The wild, barbaric beauty of thy face 
Shall round to classic lines. 

And Order, Justice, Social Law shall curb 

Thy untamed energies ; 
And Art and Science, with their dreams superb. 

Replace thine ancient ease. 

The marble, sleeping in thy mountains now. 

Shall live in sculptures rare ; 
Thy native oak shall crown the sage's brow, — 

Thy bay, the poet's hair. 

Thy tawny hills shall bleed their purple wine. 

Thy valleys yield their oil; 
And Music, with her eloquence divine. 

Persuade thy sons to toil; 

Till Hesper, as he trims his silver beam. 

No happier land shall see. 
And Earth shall find her old Arcadian dream 



Restored again in thee ! 



Bayard Taylor. 



ARIZONA. 

THE PLAINS or ARIZONA. 



THOU white and dried-up sea ! so old ! 
So strewn with wealth, so sown with gold ! 
Yes, thou art old and hoary white 
With time, and ruin of all things; 



INTRODUCTORY. 43 

And on thy lonesome borders niglit 
Sits brooding o'er witli drooping wings. 

The winds that tossed thy waves, and blew 
Across thy breast the flowing sail, 
And cheered the hearts of cheering crew 
From further seas, no more prevail. 

Thy white-walled cities all lie prone, 
With but a pyramid, a stone, 
Set head and foot in sands to tell 
The tired stranger where they fell. 

The patient ox that bended low 
His neck, and drew slow up and down 
Thy thousand freights through rock-built town. 
Is now the free-born buffalo. 

No longer of the timid fold. 
The mountain sheep leaps free and bold 
His high-built summit, and looks down 
From battlements of buried town. 

Thine ancient steeds know not the rein, 
They lord the land, they come, they go 
At will ; they laugh at man, they blow 
A cloud of black steeds on the plam. 

Thy monuments lie buried now. 
The ashes whiten on thy brow, 
The winds, the waves have drawn away. 
The very wild man dreads to stay. 



44 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Oil ! thou art very old. I lay. 
Made dumb with awe and wonderment. 
Beneath a palm within my tent, 
With idle and discouraged hands. 
Not many days agone, on sands 

Of awful, sUent Africa. 

Long gazing on her mighty shades, 
I did recall a semblance there 
Of thee. I mused where story fades 
Trom her dark brow and found her fair. 

And yet my dried-up desert sea 
Was populous with blowing sail. 
And set with city, white -walled town, 
All manned with armies bright with mail. 
Ere yet that awful Sphinx sat down 
To gaze into eternity, 
Or Egypt knew her natal hour. 
Or Africa had name or power. 

Joaqidn Miller. 

ALASKA. 

ANGEL of life ! thy glittering wings explore 
Earth's loneliest bomids and ocean's wildest shore. 
Lo ! to the wintry winds the pilot yields 
His bark careering o'er unfathomed fields ; 
Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar. 
Where Andes, giant of the western star. 
With meteor standard to the winds unfurled. 
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world. 



INTRODUCTORY. 45 

Now far lie sweeps, wlicre scarce a summer smiles, 
On Behriiig's rocks, or Grccnlund's naked isles: 
Cold on liis midniglit watch the breezes blow, 
From wastes that slumber in eternal snow; 
And waft, across the waves' tumultuous roar, 
The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore. 

Thomas Campbell. 

AN AECTIC YISION. 

WHERE the short-legged Esquimaux 
Waddle in the ice and snow. 
And the playful polar bear 
Nips the hunter unaware; 
Wliere by day they track the ermine, 
And by night another vermin, — 
Segment of the frigid zone. 
Where the temperature alone 
Warms on St. Elias' cone; 

Polar dock, where Nature slips , 

From the ways her icy ships; | 

Land of fox and deer and sable, j 

Shore end of our western cable, — | 

Let the news that flying goes 1 

Thrill through all your Arctic floes, i 

And reverberate the boast j 

From the elilfs of Beechey's coast, I 

Till the tidings, circling round ] 

Every bay of Norton Sound, j 

Throw the vocal tide-wave back ' i 

To the isles of Kodiac. ^ 



46 POEMS OP PLACES. 

Let the stately polar bears 

Waltz arounci the pole in pairs. 

And the walrus, in his glee, 

Bare his tusk of ivory; 

"While the bold sea unicorn 

Calmly takes an extra horn; 

All ye polar skies, reveal your 

Very rarest of parheha ; 

Trip it, all ye merry dancers. 

In the airiest of lancers ; 

Slide, ye solemn glaciers, shde. 

One inch farther to the tide. 

Nor in rash precipitation 

Upset Tyndall's calculation. 

Know you not what fate awaits you. 

Or to whom the future mates you? 

All ye icebergs make salaam, — 

You belong to Uncle Sam ! 

On the spot where Eugene Sue 
Led his wretched Wandering Jew, 
Stands a form whose features strike 
Russ and Esquimaux ahke. 
He it is whom Skalds of old 
Li their Runic rhymes foretold; 
Lean of flank and lank of jaw. 
See the real Northern Thor ! 
See the awful Yankee leering 
Just across the Straits of Behring; 
On the drifted snow, too plain, 
Sinks his fresh tobacco stain 



INTRODUCTORY. 47 

Just beside the deep inden- 
Tatiou of his Number Ten. 

Leaning on liis icy hammer 

Stands the hero of this drama, 

And above the wikl-diick's clamor, 

In his OTTO peculiar grammar, 

With its linguistic disguises, 

Lo, the Arctic prologue rises: 

" Wall, I reckon 't ain't so bad, 

Seein' ez 't was all they had ; 

True, the Springs are rather late 

And early Falls predominate; 

But the ice crop 's pretty sure. 

And the air is kind o' pure ; 

'T ain't so very mean a trade. 

When the land is all surveyed. 

There 's a right smart chance for fur-chase 

All along tliis recent purchase, 

And, unless the stories fail. 

Every fish from cod to vrhale; 

Rocks, too; mebbe quartz; let's see, — 

'T would be strange if there should be, — 

Seems I 've licerd such stories told ; 

Eh ! — why, bless us, — yes, it 's gold ! " 

While the blows are falling thick 
From liis California pick. 
You may recognize the Thor 
Of the vision that I saw, — 
Freed from legendary glamour. 
See the real magician's hammer. 

Bret Ilarte. 



WESTERN STATES. 



Arkansas, the Biver. 



NIGHT ON THE ARKANSAS. 

NIGHT comes upon the Arkansas, with long stride. 
Its dark and turbid waters roU along, 
Bearing wrecked trees and drift, deep, red, and wide; 
The heavy forest sleeps on either side, 

To the water's edge low-stooping; and among 

The patient stars the moon lier lamp has hung, 
Ted with the spirit of the buried sun. 
No blue waves dance tlie stream's dark mass upon, 

Ghttering like Beauty's sparkling, starry tears ; 
No crest of foam, crowning the river dun. 

Its misty ridge of frozen light uprears ; 

One sole rehef in the great void appears : 
A dark blue ridge, set sharp against the sky. 

Beyond the forest's utmost boundary. 

« * « 

Albert Pike. 



50 POEMS OF PLACES. 



A PICTURE. 



SATURDAY night: tlie sun is going do^m; 
The purple light glows on the river's breast, 
Par in the east the dull clouds watch and frown, 
Jealous of all the glory in the west; 

The listless trees lean out along the shore 

To watch their shadows lengthen down the tide ; 

And, far above us, slowly floating o'er. 

The weary birds on homeward pinions glide. 

The steamer, on the sand-bar fast asleep. 

Tired with the week's long labor, heavily lies; 

Longer and longer still the shadows creep. 
And evening mists from out the distance rise. 

All things in peace and patience seem to wait. 
As if in faith that, when the morning came, 

The sun would once more light his golden gate 
With all the glory of his entering flame. 

IFUliam Osbom Stoddard. 

THE RIYEIi:S LESSON. 

UNDER the canopied bank we lie. 
And the muddy river is rushing by, 
Yellow and foul from its eddying stray 
Through a thousand miles of wandering way, 
Gross and turbid; — and yet, I know 




THE YELLOWSTONE. See page 51. 



BIG HORN, THE RIVER. 51 

That this same troubled and mingled flow 
Shall one day clear as the crystal be. 
After it dies in the deep, far sea. 

I have watched it long, with an aching brow, 

Bending above it, and wonder now 

If the river, so full of grime and strife, 

May not be an emblem of human life. 

And if many a soul that has wandered and toiled, 

All corrupted and gross and soiled. 

At the end may not calmly glide 

Into that last great swallowing tide, 

And clear and pure as the crystal be. 

After it dies in that deep, far sea. 

William Osborn Stoddard. 



Big Horn, the Biver, Montana Ter 

THE REVENGE OF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE. 

IN that desolate land and lone 
Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone 
Boar down their mountain path, 
By their fires the Sioux chiefs 
Muttered their woes and griefs. 
And the menace of their wrath. 

" Revenge ! " cried Bain-in-the-Face ; 
"Bcvenge upon all the race 
Of the White Chief with yellow hair ! " 



52 POEMS or PLACES. 

And the mountains dark and liigh 
Erom their crags re-echoed the cry 
Of his auger and despair. 

In the meadow, spreading wide 
By woodland and river-side 

The Indian village stood; 
All was silent as a dream. 
Save the rushing of the stream 

And the blue-jay in the wood. 

In his war-paint and his beads, 
Like a bison among the reeds. 

In ambush the Sitting Bull 
Lay with three thousand braves 
Crouched in the clefts and caves, 

Savage, unmerciful ! 

Into the fatal snare 

The White Chief with yellow hair, 

And his three hundred men. 
Dashed headlong, sword in hand ; 
But of that gallant band 

Not one returned again. 

The sudden darkness of death 
Overwhelmed them, like the breath 

And smoke of a furnace of fire ; 
By the river's bank, and between 
The rocks of the ravine, 

They lay in their bloody attire. 



BIG HORN, THE RIVER. 53 

But tlie foemeu fled in tlie night, 
And Rain-in-tlie-Face, in his flight. 

Uplifted high in air. 
As a ghastly trophy, bore 
The brave heart that beat no more 

Of the White Chief with yellow hair. 

Wliose was the right and wrong? 
Sing it, funeral song, 

With a voice that is full of tears. 
And say that our broken faith 
Wrought all this ruin and scathe, 

In the Year of a Hundred Years! 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



CUSTER. 

WHAT ! shall that sudden blade 
Leap out no more? 
No more thy hand be laid 
Upon the sword-hilt, smiting sore? 
for another such • 
The charger's rein to clutch, — 
One equal voice to summon victory, 

Sounding thy battle-cry, 
Brave darUng of the soldiers' choice ! 
Would there were one more voice ! 

O gallant charge, too bold! 
O fierce, imperious greed 
To' pierce the clouds that in their darkness hold 



54 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Slaughter of man and steed ! 
Now, stark and cold, 
Among thy fallen braves thou liest. 
And even with thy blood defiest 
The wolfish foe : 
But ah, thou liest low, 
And all our birthday song is hushed indeed! 

Young lion of tlie plain, 

Thou of the tawny mane ! 
Hotly the soldiers' hearts shall beat. 

Their mouths thy death repeat, 
Their vengeance seek the trail again 

Where thy red doomsmen be ; 
But on the charge no more shall stream 
Thy hair, — no more thy sabre gleam, — 

No more ring out thy battle-shout. 
Thy cry of victory ! 

Not when a hero falls 

The sound a world appalls : 

Por while we plant his cross 
There is a glory, even in the loss : 

But when some craven heart 

From honor dares to part. 
Then, then, the groan, the blanching cheek. 

And men in whispers speak. 
Nor kith nor country dare reclaim 

From the black depths his name. 

Thou, wild young warrior, rest. 
By all the prairie winds caressed ! 



BLUE LICK SPRINGS. 55 

Swift was tliy dying pang; 
Even as the war-cry rang 
Thy deathless spirit mounted high 
And sought Columbia's sky : — 
There, to the northward far, 

Shines a new star, 
And from it blazes down 
The light of thy renown ! 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



Blue Lick Springs, Ky, 

THE SHADOWS IN THE VALLEY. 

THERE 's a mossy, shady valley, 
Where the waters wind and flow, 
And the daisies sleep in winter, 

'Neath a coverlid of snow; 
And violets, blue-eyed violets. 

Bloom in beauty in the spring, 
And the sunbeams kiss the wavelets, 
Till they seem to laugh and sing. 

But in autumn, when the sunlight 
Crowns the cedar-covered hill, 

Shadows darken in the valley, 
Shadows ominous and still ; 

And the yellow leaves like banners 
Of an elfin-host that 's fled, 



56 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Tinged witli gold and royal purple, 
Flutter sadly overhead. 

And those shadows, gloomy shadows. 

Like dim phantoms on the ground. 
Stretch their dreamy lengths forever 

On a daisy-covered mound. 
And I loved her, yes, I loved her. 

But the angels loved her, too. 
So she's sleeping in the valley, 

'Neath the sky so bright and blue. 

And no slab of pallid marble 

Rears its white and ghastly head. 
Telling wanderers in the valley 

Of the virtues of the dead; 
But a hly is her tombstone, 

And a dew-drop, pure and bright. 
Is the epitaph an angel wrote 

In the stillness of the night. 

And I'm mournful, very mournful, 

Tor my soul doth ever crave 
Eor the fading of the shadows 

Erom that Httle woodland grave ; 
For the memory of the loved one 

From my soul will never part. 
And those shadows in the valley 

Dim the sunshine of my heart. 

Uenry Lijnden Flash. 



CALAVERAS. 57 



Calaveras, Cal, 

ON A CONE OF THE BIG TREES. I 

BROWN foundling of tlie Western wood, ^ 

Babe of primeval wildernesses ! i 

Long on my table thou hast stood 

Encounters strange and rude caresses; 
Perchance contented with thy lot, 

Surroundings new and curious faces, 
As though ten centuries were not 

Imprisoned in thy shining cases ! \ 

Thou bring'st me back the halcyon days j 

Of grateful rest; the week of leisure, ' 

The journey lapped in autumn haze, i 

The sweet fatigue that seemed a pleasure, ] 

The morning ride, the noonday halt, ' 

The blazing slopes, the red dust rising, \ 

And then — the dim, brown, columned vault, j 

With its cool, damp, sepulchral spicing. 

Once more I see the rocking masts ' 

That scrape the sky, their only tenant ' 

The jay-bird that in frolic casts 

Trom some high yard his broad blue pennant. 
I see the Indian files that keep , 

Their places in the dusty heather, 1 

Their red trunks standing ankle deep 

In moccasins of rusty leather. 

I see all this, and marvel much 

That thou, sweet woodland waif, art able ; 



58 POEMS OF PLACES. 

To keep the company of such 

As throng thy friend's — the poet's — table : 
The latest spawn the press hath cast, — 

The "modern Pope's," "the later Byron's," — 
Why e'en the best may not outlast 

Thy poor relation, — Sempervirens. 

Thy sire saw the light that shone 

On Mohammed's uplifted crescent, 
On many a royal gilded throne 

And deed forgotten m the present; 
He saw the age of sacred trees 

And Druid groves and mystic larches; 
And saw from forest domes like these 

The builder bring his Gotliic arches. 

And must thou, foundhng, still forego 

Thy heritage and high ambition. 
To lie full lowly and full low. 

Adjusted to thy new condition ? 
Not hidden in the drifted snows. 

But under ink-drops idly spattered. 
And leaves ephemeral as those 

That on thy woodland tomb were scattered. 

Yet lie thou there, O friend ! and speak 

The moral of thy simple story : 
Though life is all that thou dost seek, 

And age alone thy crown of glory, — 
Not thine the only germs that fail 

The purpose of their high creation. 
If their poor tenements avail 

For worldly show and ostentation. 

Bret Harte. 



CHICAGO. 59 

Chicago, III 

CHICAGO. 

MEN said at vespers : " All is well ! " 
In one wild night the city fell; 
Tell shrines of prayer and marts of gain 
Before the fiery hurricane. 

On threescore spires had sunset shone, 
Where ghastly sunrise looked on none. 
Men clasped each other's hands, and said: 
" The City of the West is dead ! " 

Brave hearts Avho fought, in slow retreat, 
The fiends of fire from street to street. 
Turned, powerless, to the bhudiug glare, 
The dumb defiance of despair, 

A sudden impulse thrilled each wire 

That signalled round that sea of fire ; 

Swift words of cheer, warm heart-throbs came; 

In tears of pity died the flame ! 

From East, from West, from South and North, 
The messages of hope shot forth. 
And, underneath tlic severing wave. 
The world, full-handed, reached to save. 

Eair seemed the old; but fairer still 
The new, the dreary void shall fill 



60 POEMS OF PLACES. 

With dearer homes than those o'erthrown, 
!For love shall lay each comer-stoue. 

Rise, stricken city ! — from thee throw 
The ashen sackcloth of thy woe; 
And build, as to Amphion's strain, 
To songs of cheer thy walls again ! 

How shrivelled in thy hot distress 
The primal sin of selfishness ! 
How instant rose, to take thy part. 
The angel in the human heart ! 

Ah ! not in vain the flames that tossed 
Above thy dreadful holocaust ; 
The Christ again has preached through thee 
The Gospel of Humanity ! 

Then hft once more thy towers on high. 
And fret with spires the western sky. 
To tell that God is yet with us, 
And love is still miraculous ! 

John Greenleaf Wliittier. 

CHICAGO. 

BLACKENED and bleeding, helpless, panting, prone, 
On the charred fragments of her shattered throne 
Lies she who stood but yesterday alone. 

Queen of the West ! by some enchanter taught 

To lift the glory of Aladdin's court, 

Then lose the spell that all that wonder wrought. 



CHICAGO. 61 

Like her ovm prairies by some chance seed sown, 
Like her own prairies in one brief day grown, 
Like her own prairies in one fierce night mown. 

Slie Hfts her voice, and in her pleading call 
We hear the cry of Maccdon to Paul, 
The cry for help that makes her kin to all. 

But haply with wan fingers may she feci 
The silver cup hid in the proffered meal, 
The gifts her kinship and our loves reveal. 

Bret Ilarte. 



CHICAGO. 

CHICAGO, OCTODER 9, 1871. 

GAUNT in the midst of the prairie. 
She who was once so fair; 
Charred and rent are her garments, 
Heavy and dark like cerements ; 

Silent, but round her the air 
Plaintively wails, " Miserere ! " 

Proud like a beautiful maiden. 

Art-like from forehead to feet. 

Was she till pressed like a leman 

Close to the breast of the demon. 
Lusting for one so sweet. 

So were her shoulders laden. 

Priends she had, rich in her treasures 
Shall the old taunt be true, — 



62 POEMS OF PLACES. 

rallerij they turn their cold faces, 
Seeldiig new wealth-gilded places, 

Saying we never knew 
Aught of her smiles or her pleasures ? 

Silent she stands on the prairie. 

Wrapped in her fire-scathed sheet : 

Around her, thank God ! is the Nation, 

Weeping for her desolation, 

Pouring its gold at her feet. 

Answering her " Miserere ! " 

John Boyle O'Reilly. 



Cincinnati^ Ohio, 

TO CINCINNATI. 

CITY of gardens, verdant parks, sweet bowers; 
Blooming upon thy bosom, bright and fair. 
Wet with the dews of spring, and summer's showers. 
And fanned by every breath of wandering air; 
Rustling the foliage of thy green groves, where 
The bluebird's matin wakes the smihng morn, 
And sparkling humming-birds of plumage rare. 
With tuneful pinions on the zephyrs borne. 
Disport the flowers among, and glitter and adorn: 

Fair is thy seat, in soft recumbent rest 

Beneath the grove-clad hills ; whence morning wings 

The gentle breezes of the fragrant west, 



CINCINNATI. 63 

Tliat kiss the surface of a thousand springs : 
Nature, her many-colored mantle flings 
Around thee, and adorns thee as a bride; 
While polished Art his gorgeous tribute brings, 
And dome and spire ascending far and wide, 
Their pointed shadows dip in thy Ohio's tide. 

So fair in infancy, — oh, what shall be 
Thy blooming prime, expanding like the rose 
In fragrant beauty ; when a century 
Hath passed upon thy birth, and time bestows 
The largess of a world, that freely throws 
Her various tribute from remotest shores. 
To enrich the Western Rome : here shall repose 
Science and art ; and from time's subtile ores — 
Nature's unfolded page — knowledge enrich her stores. 

Talent and Genius to thy feet shall bring 
Their brilliant offerings of immortal birth ; 
Display the secrets of Pieria's spring, 
CastaUa's fount of melody and mirth : 
Beauty, and grace, and chivalry, and worth, 
Wait on the Queen of Arts, in her own bowers. 
Perfumed with all the fragrance of the earth. 
Prom blooming shrubbery, and radiant flowers ; 
And hope with rapture wed life's calm and peaceful 
hours. 

Oft as the spring wakes on the verdant year, 
And nature glows in fervid beauty dressed, 
The loves and graces shall commingle here. 
To charm the queenly City of the W^cst; 



64 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Her stately youth, with noble warmth impressed, 
Her graceful daughters, smiling as the May, — 
Apollos these, and Hebes those confessed, — 
Bloom in her warm and fertilizing ray, 
Wilde round their happy sires the cherub infants play. 

So sings the Muse, as she, with fancy's eye. 
Scans, from imagination's lofty height. 
Thy radiant beaming day, — where it doth lie 
In the deep future ; glowing on the night 
From whose dark womb empires unveiled to light: 
Mantled and diademed, and sceptred there, 
Tliou waitest but the advent of thy flight. 
When, like a royal Queen, stately and fair, 
The City of the West ascends the regal chair. 

Edward A. 31' Latighlin. 



THE OLD MOUND. 

LONELY and sad it stands : 
The trace of ruthless hands 
Is on its sides and summit, and around 
The dwellings of the white man pile the ground; 

And curling in the air, 
The smoke of thrice a thousand hearths is there: 

Without, all speaks of life, — within, 

Deaf to the city's echoing din. 
Sleep well the tenants of that silent mound. 
Their names forgot, their memories uurcnowned. 



Upon its top I tread, 
And see around me spread 



CINCINNATI. 



65 



Temples and mansions, and the hoary hills. 
Bleak with the labor that the coffer fills, 

But mars their bloom the while. 
And steals from nature's faee its joyous smile -. 

And here and there, below. 

The stream's meandering flow 
Breaks on the view; and westward in the sky 
The gorgeous clouds in crimson masses lie. 

The hammer's clang rings out, 

Where late the Indian's shout 
Startled the wildfowl from its sedgy nest. 
And broke the wild deer's and the panther's rest. 

The lordly oaks went down 
Before the axe, —the canebrake is a town: 

The bark canoe no more 

Glides noiseless from the sho;-e; 
And, sole memorial of a nation's doom, 
Amid the works of art rises this lonely tomb. 

It too must pass away: 

Barbaric hands will lay 
Its holy i-uins level with the plain, 
And rear upon its site some goodly fane. 

It scemcth to upbraid 
The white man for the ruin he has made. 

And soon the spade and mattock must 

Invade the sleepers' buried dust, 
And bare their bones to sacrilegious eyes, 
And send them forth, some joke-collector's prize. 

Charles A. Jones. 



66 P0E3IS OF PLACES. 

Columbia, the Eivei^ Wash, Ter, 

THE KIVER COLUMBIA. 

OREGON midnight with a round moon. Mellow 
On savage steeps sublime a stillness argent 
Along the lone Columbia ; every billow 
Where the moon's slumber breathes a smoothed pillow; 
As calm the caves in rock-columnar shadows. 
Blacker for fir and hemlock. Islands, meadows. 
Wave in the low winds, all the alluvial margent 
Fragrant with fringe of cottonwood and willow. 
A loveHer witchery than hers of Endor, 
Than Samuel's form a phantom more tremendous; 
Eor, vague in shroud-like mantle, misty white. 
Looms hoar Saint Helen's with a ghostly splendor: \ 

The apparition of some mount stupendous 
Belonging to a world pre-Adamite ! 

Look ; use that one sense only ; naught to Hsten 
Hast thou in the sweet calm. Superbly flowing 
By piny banks basaltiform, romantic, 
Lo ! the smoke-purple river ametliystine ; 
While the sun rises a discoloring mist in 
With lustre like a full-blown rose gigantic. 
High up in whiter light three snow-peaks glisten. 
A reflex, like a levelled obelisk, 
Lies pointing to the sun's purpureal disk; 
Like rubies lucid, through the thin wave glowing 
Along : 't is magical : her treasures shine, 
At flow of morning's oriental fountains. 



COLUMBIA, THE RIVER. G7 

Revealed by some Enchantress of the Mine 
To Geuii of the Stream and of the Mountams ! 

Rolled up the huge gorge long a billowy roar 
Has shaken the mountain firs with storms of sound; 
But now the Cascades, as the bluff ye round. 
Burst forth like a magnificent meteor, 
Grand the white turbulence, the foamy smother. 
And beautiful the blue-green stream behind. 
Made less crystalline by nor wave nor wind, 
As if — the one contiguous to the other — 
The calm slept dead and the storm surged on ocean. 
Careers, like scud before a hurricane, 
The vast foam, — the great mountains whirl, — your brain 
Reels with the rushing parallactic motion. 
Look up, where flows the river gentliest. 
There is a charm of peace — lo ! aU again is rest ! 

Proud Bird, with no compeer and no companion, 
From where snow-summits highest are and hoarest 
To where the slow swell lifts the ocean-kelp. 
The river rolled in cataract through the cailon 
Or seaward floating wrecks of vast flr forest. 
High o'er the raven's croak, the sea-gull's yelp. 
Bald Eagle of the Oregon, thou soarest ! 
And thou that here thy tides and billows pourest. 
Calm and as strong as Heaven, sublime Pacific, 
Here wliere the freighted inland waters launch — 
Where'er the bird screams or the salt air pipes. 
Ocean and Eagle, ye are Ereedom's types ; 
When all her broad domain is beatific. 
And her uncrimsoncd conquering bears the olive branch ! 

inillam Gibson. 



68 POEMS OF PLACES. 



Coteau des Prairies, Dakota Ter, 

THE PEACE-PIPE. 

ON tlie Mountains of the Prairie, 
On the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry, 
Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
He the Master of Life, descending. 
On the red crags of the quarry 
Stood erect, and called the nations, 
Called the tribes of men together. 

Prom his footprints flowed a river. 
Leaped into the light of morning, 
O'er the precipice plunging downward 
Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet. 
And the Spirit, stooping earthward. 
With his finger on the meadow 
Traced a winding pathway for it. 
Saying to it, " Run in this way ! " 

Prom the red stone of the quarry 
With his hand he broke a fragment. 
Moulded it into a pipe-head. 
Shaped and fashioned it with figures; 
Prom the margin of the river 
Took a long reed for a pipe-stem, 
With its dark green leaves upon it; 
Pilled the pipe with bark of willow, 
With the bark of the red willow; 



c6teau des prairies. 69 

Breathed upon the neighboring forest. 
Made its great boughs chafe together. 
Till in flame they burst and kindled; 
And erect upon the mountains, 
Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
Smoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe, 
As a signal to the nations. 

And the smoke rose slowly, slowly, 
Through the tranquil air of morning, 
Pirst a single line of darkiiess, 
Then a denser, bluer vapor, 
Then a snow-white cloud unfolding, 
Like the tree-tops of the forest, 
Ever rising, rising, rising. 
Till it touched the top of heaven, 
Till it broke against the heaven, 
And rolled outward all around it. 

Prom the Vale of Tawasentha, 
Prom the Valley of Wyoming, 
Prom the groves of Tuscaloosa, 
Prom the far-off Rocky Mountains, 
Prom the Northern lakes and rivers 
All the tribes beheld the signal, 
Saw the distant smoke ascending. 
The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe. 

And tlie Prophets of the nations 
Said: "Behold it, the Pukwana! 
By this signal from afar off. 
Bending like a wand of willow. 
Waving like a hand that beckons, 
Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 



70 POEMS or PLACES. 

Calls tlie tribes of men togetlier, 
Calls tlie warriors to his council!" 

Down the rivers, o'er the prairies. 
Came the warriors of the nations, 
Came the Delawares and Mohawks, 
Came the Choctaws and Camanches, 
Came the Shoshonies and Blackfeet, 
Came the Pawnees and Omahas, 
Came the Mandans and Dacotahs, 
Came the Hurons and Ojibways, 
All the warriors drawn together 
By the signal of the Peace-Pipe, 
To the Mountains of the Prairie, 
To the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry. 

And they stood there on the meadow. 
With their weapons and their war-gear. 
Painted like the leaves of Autumn, 
Painted like the sky of morning, 
Wildly glaring at each other; 
In their faces stern defiance. 
In their hearts the feuds of ages. 
The hereditary hatred, 
The ancestral thirst of vengeance. 

Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
The Creator of the nations, 
Looked upon them with compassion, 
With paternal love and pity; 
Looked upon their wrath and wrangling 
But as quarrels among children. 
But as feuds and fights of children ! 

Over them he stretched his right hand. 



c6teau des prairies. 71 

To subdue tlicir stubborn natures. 

To allay tlu'ir thirst and fever, 

By the shadow of his right hand ; 

Spake to them with voice majestic 

As the sound of far-oif waters. 

Falling into deep abysses, 

Warning, chiding, spake in this wise: — 

" O my children ! my poor children ! 
Listen to the words of wisdom. 
Listen to the words of warning. 
From the lips of the Great Spirit, 
From the Master of Life, who made you. 

"I have given you lands to hunt in, 
I have given you streams to fish in, 
I have given you bear and bison, 
I have given you roe and reindeer, 
I have given you brant and beaver. 
Filled the marshes full of wildfowl. 
Filled the rivers full of fishes ; 
Why then are you not contented? 
Why then will you hunt each other? 
"I am weary of your quarrels. 

Weary of your w^ars and bloodshed. 

Weary of your prayers for vengeance. 

Of your wrangliiigs and dissensions; 

All your strength is in your union, 

All your danger is in discord ; 

Therefore be at peace henceforward. 

And as brothers live together. 
'-'I will send a Prophet to you, 

A Deliverer of the nations. 



72 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Wlio shall guide you and shall teach yon, 

Who shall toil and suffer with you. 

If you listen to his counsels, 

You will multiply and prosper; 

If liis warnings pass unheeded. 

You will fade away and perish! 

"Bathe now in the stream before you. 
Wash the war-paint from your faces, 
Wash the blood-stains from your fingers. 
Bury your war-clubs and your weapons. 
Break the red stone from this quarry. 
Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes, 
Take the reeds that grow beside you, 
Deck them with your brightest feathers, 
Smoke the calumet together. 
And as brothers live henceforward ! " 

Then upon the ground the wamors 
Threw their cloaks and shirts of deer-skin. 
Threw their weapons and their war-gear. 
Leaped into the rushing river. 
Washed the war-paint from their faces. 
Clear above them flowed the water. 
Clear and limpid from the footprints 
Of the Master of Life descending; 
Dark below them flowed the water. 
Soiled and stained with streaks of crimson. 
As if blood were mingled with it ! 

Prom the river came the warriors. 
Clean and washed from all their war-paint; 
On the banks their clubs they buried. 
Buried all their warlike weapons. 



DOW'S FLAT. 73 

Gitche Manito, the Mighty, < 

The Great Spirit, the Creator, ^ 

Smiled upon his helpless children ! 

And in silence all the warriors i 

Broke the red stone of the quarry, 
Smoothed and formed it into Peace-Pipes, 
Broke the long reeds by the river, 
Decked them with their brightest feathers, 
And departed each one homeward. 
While the Master of Life, ascending. 
Through the opening of cloud-curtains, 

Through the doorways of the heaven, ! 

Vanished from before their faces. 
In the smoke that rolled around him. 

The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe ! i 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. \ 



Bow's Flat, CaL 



D' 



DOW'S FLAT. 

,OWS PLAT. That's its name. 
And I reckon that you 
Are a stranger? The same? 
Well, I thought it was true, — 
For thar is n't a man on the river as can't spot the 
place at first view. 

It was called after Dow, 

TVTiich the same was an ass, — 



74 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And as to the how 

Thet the thing kem to pass, — 
Jest tie up your hoss to that buckeye, and sit ye down 
here in the grass : 

You see this 'yer Dow 

Hed the worst kind of luck; 
He sUpped up somehow 

On each thing thet he struck, 
Wliy, ef he 'd a straddled thet fence-rail the derned thing 
'ed get up and buck. 

"He mined on the bar 

Till he couldn't pay rates; 
He was smashed by a car 

When he tunnelled with Bates; 
And right on the top of his trouble kem his wife and 
five kids from the States. 

It was rough, — mighty rough ; 
But the boys they stood by, 
And they brought him the stuff 
For a house, on the sly; 
And the old woman, — well, she did washing, and took 
on when no one was nigh. 

But this yer luck of Dow's 

Was so powerful mean 
That the spring near his house 
Dried right up on the green; 
And he sunk forty feet down for water, but nary a drop 
to be seen. 



DOW'S FLAT. 75 

Then the bar petered out, 

And the boys Avouldu't stay; 
And the chills got about, 
And his wife fell away; 
But Dow, in his well, kept a peggin' in his usual 
ridikilous way. 

One day, — it was June, — 
And a year ago, jest, — 
This Dow kem at noon 
To his work like the rest, 
With a shovel and pick on his shoulder, and a der- 
ringer hid in his breast. 

He goes to the well. 

And he stands on the brink, 
And stops for a spell 
Jest to listen and think: 
Tor the sun in his eyes, (jest like this, sir!) you see, 
kinder made the cuss blink. 

His two ragged gals 

In the gulch were at play, 
And a gownd that was Sal's 
Kinder flapped on a bay. 
Not much for a man to be leavin', but his all, — as 
I've heer'd the folks say. 

j^icl— That's a peart hoss 

Thct you've got, — ain't it now? 
Wluit miffht be her cost? 



76 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Ell ? Oh ! — Well, then, Dow — 
Let 's see, — well, that forty-foot grave was n't his, sir, 
that day, anyhow. 

For a blow of his pick 

Sorter caved in the side. 
And he looked and turned sick. 
Then he trembled and cried. 
For you see the dern cuss had struck — "Water?" — 
Beg your pardmg, young man, there you lied ! 

It was gold, — in the quartz. 

And it ran all alike ; 
And I reckon five oughts 

Was the worth of that strike ; 
And that house with the coopilow 's his'n, — which the 
same is n't bad for a Pike. 

Thet 's why it 's Dow's Flat ; 

And the thing of it is 
That he kinder got that 

Through sheer contrairiness : 
For 't was water the denied cuss was seekin', and his 
luck made him certain to miss. 

Thet's so. Thar's your way 

To the left of yon tree ; 
But — a — look h'yur, say ? 
Won't you come up to tea ? 
No ? Well, then the next time you 're passin' ; and 
ask after Dow, —and thet's me. 

Bret Ilarte. 



ERIE, THE LAKE. 77 

Erie, the Lake. 

LAKE ERIE. 

THESE lovely shores ! how lone and still 
A hundred years ago. 
The unbroken forest stood above. 

The waters dashed below, — 
The waters of a lonely sea, 

Wliere never sail was furled. 
Embosomed in a wilderness. 
Which was itself a world. 

A hundred years ! go baek ; and lo ! 

"Where, closing in the view. 
Juts out the shore, with rapid oar 

Darts round a frail canoe. 
'T is a white voyager, and see, 

His prow is westward set 
O'er the calm wave; hail to thy bold. 

World-seeking bark, Marquette ! 

The lonely bird, that picks his food 

Where rise the waves, and sink, 
At their strange coming, with shrill scream, 

Starts from the sandy brink ; 
The fishhawk, hanging in mid sky. 

Floats o'er on level wing, 
And the savage from his covert looks. 

With arrow on the strincr. 



J 

1 

78 POEMS OF PLACES. 

A liundred years are past and gone, i 

And all the rocky coast i 

Is turreted with shining towns. 

An empire's noble boast. \ 

And the old wilderness is changed 
To cultured vale and hill; 

And the circuit of its mountains i 

An empire's numbers fill. j 

Ephraim Peahodi/. j 



Huron, the River, Mich, 

TO A SWAN FLYING AT MIDNIGHT. 

OH, what a still, bright night! It is the sleep 
Of beauteous Nature in her bridal hall. 
See, while the groves shadow the shining lake. 
How the full moon does bathe their melting green ! - 
I hsar the dew-drop twang upon the pool. 
Hark, hark, what music ! from the rampart hills, 
How like a far-off bugle, sweet and clear, 
It searches through the listening wilderness ! — 
A Swan, — I know it by the trumpet-tone : 
Winging her pathless way in the cool heavens. 
Piping her midnight melody, she comes. 

Beautifid bird ! upon the dusk, still world 
Thou fallcst like an angel, — like a lone 
Sweet angel from some sphere of harmony. 
Where art thou, where ? — no speck upon the blue 
My vision marks from whence thy music ranges. 




' Oh, what a still, bright night •" See page 78. 



HURON, THE RIVER. 79 

And why tins hour — this voiceless hour — is thine, 
And thine alone, I cannot tell. Perchance, 
Wliile all is hush and silent but the heart. 
E'en thou hast human sympathies for heaven, 
And singest yonder in the holy deep 
Because thou hast a pinion. If it be. 
Oh for a wing, upon the aerial tide 
To sail with thee a minstrel mariner ! 

When to a rarer height thou wheelest up, 
Hast thou that awful thrill of an ascension, — 
The lone, lost feeling in the vasty vault? 
Oh for thine ear, to hear the ascending tones 
Range the ethereal chambers ! — then to feel 
A harmony, while from the eternal depth 
Steals naught but the pure starlight evermore ! 
And then to list the echoes, faint and mellow, 
Tar, far below, breathe from the hollow earth, 
Tor thee, soft, sweet petition, to return. 

And hither, haply, thou wilt shape thy neck ; 
And settle, like a silvery cloud, to rest. 
If thy wild image, flaring in the abyss. 
Startle thee not aloft. Lone aeronaut. 
That catchest, on thine airy looking-out. 
Glassing the hollow darkness, many a lake. 
Lay, for the night, thy lily bosom here. 
There is the deep unsounded for thy bath. 
The shallow for the shaking of thy quills. 
The dreamy cove, or cedar-wooded isle, 
With galaxy of water-lilies, where. 
Like mild Diana 'mong the quiet stars, 
'Neath overbendiug branches thou wilt move. 



80 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Till early w^arblers shake the crystal shower, 
And "whistling pinions warn thee to thy voyage. 

But where art thou ? — lost, — spirited away 
To bowers of light by thy own dying whispers ? 
Or does some billow of the ocean-air. 
In its still roll around from zone to zone, 
All breathless to the empyrean heave thee ? 

There is a panting in the zenith — hush ! 
The Swan — how strong her great wing times the 

silence ! — 
She passes over high and quietly. 

Now peals the living clarion anew ; 
One vocal shower falls in and fills the vale. 
Wliat witchery in the wilderness it plays ! — 
Shrill snort the affrighted deer ; across the lake 
The loon, sole sentinel, screams loud alarm; — 
The shy fox barks ; — tinghng iu every vein 
I feel the wild enchantment ; — hark ! they come. 
The dulcet echoes from the distant hills. 
Like fainter horns responsive ; all the while, 
From misty isles, soft-steaHng symphonies. 

Thou bright, swift river of the bark canoe, • 
Threading the prairie-ponds of Washtenung, 
The day of romance wanes. Pew summers more. 
And the long night will pass away unwaked. 
Save by the house-dog or the village bell ; 
And she, thy minstrel queen, her ermine dip 
In lonelier waters. 

Ah ! thou wilt not stoop ; 
Old Huron, haply, glistens on thy sky. 
The chasing moonbeams, glancing on thy plumes. 



KANAWHA, THE RIVER. 81 

Reveal thee now, a little beating blot. 
Into the pale Aurora fading. 

There ! — 
Sinks gently back upon her flowery couch 
The startled Night ; — tinkle the damp wood- vaults 
While slip the dew-pearls from her leafy curtains. 
That last soft, whispering note, how spirit-hke ! 
While vainly yet mine ear another waits, 
A sad, sweet longing lingers in my heart. 

Louis Legrand Noble. 



Kanaiclia, the Eiver, West Va. 

THE KANAWHA. 

NATURE'S lover, pause to see. 
Where Kanawha wanders free; 
Nature in her wildest mood, 
Mid her grandest solitude; 
With her mountains thronged around, 
Listening to the torrent's sound; 
HiU and valley, rock and floods, 
Wavmg with eternal woods : 
Here the earth-cloud lowly creeping, 
There along the summit sleeping; 
Here the elifl' uplifting high 
Its bold forehead to the sky. 
There, like a gigantic lover. 
Bending with devotion over 



82 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Tlie coy river, swift and clear, — 
A gay, bounding mountaineer. 
Now it winds away, away. 
Sporting with its jewelled spray; 
Now it seems to woo your feet. 
But, ah ! trust not the deceit ; 
Shrub and pebble though they seem. 
Rock and forest guard the stream. 
E'en the Grecian lover's leap 
Never tempted such a steep. 
Where the hawkling far below 
Nestles 'neath the beetling brow; 
While along yon craggy bed 
Lurks the vengeful copperhead, 
And the avalanche of rock 
Poises for an earthquake-shock. 
All is fresh, sublime, and wild. 
As when first by Nature piled. 
Ere the white-man wandered here. 
Or the red-man chased the deer, — 
Naming, ere he fled forever. 
This, his own Romantic River. 

Leivis Ringe. 



THE GOOD PAET THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY. 

SHE dwells by Great Kanawha's side. 
In vaUeys green and cool; 
And aU her hope and all her pride 
Are in the villa.sre school. 



KANAWHA, THE RIVER. 83 

Her soul, like the transparent air 

That robes the hills above. 
Though not of earth, encireles there 

All things with arms of love. 

And thus she walks among her girls 

With pi-aise and mild rebukes; 
Subduing e'en rude village churls 

By her angelic looks. 

She reads to them at eventide 

Of One who came to save ; 
To cast the captive's cliains aside 

And liberate the slave. 

And oft the blessed time foretells 

When all men shall be free; 
And musical, as silver bells. 

Their falling chains shall be. 

And following her beloved Lord, 

In decent poverty, 
She makes her life one sweet record 

And deed of charity. 

Por she was rich, and gave up all 

To break the iron bands 
Of those who waited in her hall. 

And labored in her lands. 

Long since beyond the Southern Sea 
Their outbound sails have sped. 



84 POEMS OF PLACES. 

While she, iii meek humility, 
Now earns her daily bread. 

It is their prayers, which never cease, 
That clothe her with such grace; 

Their blessing is the light of peace 
That shines upon her face. 

Henry Wadsioorth Longfellow. 



Longmont, Colorado, j 

A SUXSET AT LONGMONT. i 

WE 've journeyed through the mountains. There ; 

they stand j 

Broad-based, majestic in a grand repose, , 

Some three leagues westward. Longmont welcomes ; 

us ; j 

And while we rest this balmy summer eve \ 

At hospitable thresholds, all the sky, : 

As if to consecrate our holiday, \ 
And make our precious memories more dear, 
Puts on unwonted glory; and our eyes. 

Like those of Moses in the mount, are smit ; 

With sudden splendor. Tor the sinking sun, ; 

Hidden, is not repressed, but pours its ligM , 

Upward and far aslant on flocks of cloud. J 

Along the clear horizon's narrow rim, ■ 

Down the great gulfs of everlasting rock, j 



LONGMONT, COLORABO. 85 

O'er shining peaks, the distant Snowv Range, 
And Long's high crown, wliile all the nearer hills 
In tender shadow wateh the miracle. 

Spread to the right, and gleaming fold on fold, 
Vermilion, saffron, pink, and pearly white. 
The gorgeous banners of the clouds are flung, 
"Waving and tossing in resplendent surge. 
Above yon belt of deep, delicious sky, 
Wliose liquid opal perfect, passionless, 
Runs to a field of luminous emerald, 
Broidcred with marvellous fringe of crimson fire. 
More southward, fleecy draperies touched with rose 
Float on the air, and here and tliere droop low 
Upon the shoulders of the purple peaks. 
O'erhead the arrows of the hidden sun 
Flash, now and then, on cliffs of ragged cloud ; 
And plumes of radiance, like strange tropic birds, 
riit through the open spaces of the blue. 
High up amid the awful gaps of rock. 
Between the ranges, a soft sea of bloom, — 
The lustrous pollen of this sunset-flower, — 
Throbs wave on wave against the granite shore. 
Wondrous the billows of this golden mist. 
Sweet, tender, lucent, as if purest dews 
Of Paradise had washed the starry sheen 
From heaven's choicest blossoms, and poured all 
Into the porphyry basin of the mount, 
A perfect incense to the unseen God. 
Unasked we join the worship of the hour. 
Breathless with indescribable applause. 
The sacred spell of Beauty on us lies, 



86 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And power that dwells in Liglit's essential throne. 
And Love in which all that is good is born. 
The curtains of the glowing deep are drawn. 
And through the vista, garlanded with gold. 
O'er amethystine herbage, lawns of rose. 
Pure streams where lilies of the angels blow, 
Par toward the sightless glory of the Lord, 
Our hearts are borne in measureless content, 
Renewed and resting on the Infinite ! 

Horatio Nelson Pov)ers. 



Lookout, the Mountain, Tenn. 

LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 

HISTORIC mount! baptized in flame and blood. 
Thy name is as immortal as the rocks 
That crown thy thunder-scarred but royal brow. 
Thou liftest up thy aged head in pride 
In the cool atmosphere, but higher still 
Within the calm and solemn atmosphere 
Of an immortal fame. Prom thy sublime 
And awful summit I can gaze afar 
Upon innumerous lesser pinnacles. 
And oh ! my winged spirit loves to fly. 
Like a strong eagle, mid their np-piled crags. 
But most on thee, imperial mount, my soul 
Is chained as by a spell of power. 

I gaze 
Prom this tall height on Chick amauga's field. 



LOOKOUT, THE MOUNTAIN. 87 

IMiere Death held erst high carnival. The waves 
Of the mysterious death-river moaned ; 
The tramp, the shout, the fearfid thuuder-roar 
Of red-breathed cannon, and the wailing cry 
Of myriad victims, filled the air. The smoke 
Of battle closed above the charging hosts, 
And,' when it passed, the grand old flag no more 
Waved in the light of heaven. The soil was wet 
And miry with the life-blood of the brave. 
As with a drenching rain; and yon broad stream, 
The noble and majestic Tennessee, 
Ran reddened toward the deep. 

But thou, bleak 
And rocky mountain, wast the theatre 
Of a yet fiercer struggle. On thy height, 
Where now I sit, a proud and gallant host, 
The chivalry and glory of the South, 
Stood up awaiting battle. Sombre clouds, 
Floating far, far beneath them, shut from view 
The stern and silent foe, whose storied Hag 
Bore on its folds our country's monarch-bird. 
Whose talons grasp the thunderbolt. Up, np 
Thy rugged sides they came with measured tramp, 
Unheralded by bugle, drum, or shout, 
And, though the clouds closed round them with the 

gloom 
Of double night, they paused not in their march 
Till sword and plume and bayonet emerged 
Above the spectral shades that circled round 
Thy awful breast. Then suddenly a storm 
Of flame and lead and iron downward burst,. 



88 POEMS OF PLACES, ; 

From this tall pinnacle, like winter hail. \ 

Long, fierce, and bloody was the strife, — alas ! i 

The noble flag, our country's hope and pride, j 

Sank down beneath the surface of the clouds, : 

As sinks the pennon of a shipwrecked bark 
Beneath a stormy sea, and naught was heard ! 

Save the wild cries and moans of stricken men, | 

And the swift rush of fleeing warriors down ' 

Thy rugged steeps. 

But soon the trumpet-voice ; 

Of the bold chieftain of the routed host j 

Resounded through the atmosphere, and pierced I 

The clouds that hung around thee. With high 

words 
He quickly summoned his brave soldiery back 
To the renewal of the deadly fight; 

Again their stern and measured tramp was heard ■ 

By the flushed Southrons, as it echoed up ! 

Thy bald, majestic cHffs. Again they burst, ; 

Like spirits of destruction, through the clouds, ! 

And mid a thousand hurtling missiles swept 
Their foes before them as the whirlwind sweeps 
The strong oaks of the forest. Victory i 

Perched with her sister-eagle on the scorched 
And torn and blackened banner. ! 

Awful mount : i 

The stains of blood have faded from thy rocks, 
The cries of mortal agony have ceased 
To echo from thy hollow cliffs, the smoke j 

Of battle long since melted into air, | 

And yet thou art unchanged. Aye thou wilt lift 



LOUISVILLE. B9 

111 majesty tliy walls above the storm, 
Mocking the generations as they pass. 
And pilgrims of the far-off centuries 
"Will sometimes linger in their wanderings. 
To ponder, witli a deep and sacred awe. 
The legend of the fight above the clonds. 

George Dennison Prentice. 



Louisville, Ky. 

CAYE HILL CEMETERY. 
TJEIIE, whilst the twilight dews 



i 

AJ- Are softly gathering on the leaves and flowers, j 

I come, O patriot dead, to muse ' 

A few brief hours. 

Hard by you, rank on rank. 
Rise the sad everf^rreens, whose solemn forms 

Are dark as if they only drank j 

The thunder-storms. ' 

I 

Through the thick leaves around 
The low, wild winds their dirge-like music pour, 

Like the far ocean's solemn sound, ] 

On its lone shore. 

From all the air a sigh, 
Dirge-like and soul-like, melancholy, wild. 

Comes like a mother's wailing cry ' ! 

O'er her dead child. I 



POEMS OF PLACES. 

Yonder, a little way, 
Where mounds rise thick like surges on the sea. 
Those whom ye met in fierce array 
Sleep dreamlessly. 

The same soft breezes sing. 
The same birds chant their spirit-requiem. 

The same sad flowers their fragrance fling 
O'er you and them. 

And pilgrims oft will grieve 
Alike o'er Northern and o'er Southern dust, 
And both to God's great mercy leave 
In equal trust. 

Oh, ye and they, as foes, 
Will meet no more, but calmly take your rest, 
The meek hands folded in repose 
On each still breast. 

No marble columns rear 
Their shafts to blazon each dead hero's name. 
Yet well, oh, well, ye slumber here. 
Great sons of fame I 

The dead as free will start 
Prom the unburdened as the burdened sod, 
And stand as pure in soul and heart 
Before their God. 
* * * 

George Denison Fr entice. 



MADISON. 91 



Madison, Wis, 

THE FOUR LAKES OF MADISON. 

OUR limpid lakes, — four Naiades 
Or sylvan deities are these, 

lu flowmg robes of azure dressed; 
Four lovely baudmaids that uphold 
Their shiuiug mirrors, rimmed with gold, 

To the fair city iu the West. 



F 



By day the coursers of the Sun 
Drink of these waters as they run 

Their swift, diurnal round on high; 
By night the constellations glow 
Far down the hollow deeps below, 

And glimmer in another sky. 

Tair lakes, serene and full of light, 
Fair town, arrayed in robes of white. 

How visionary ye appear ! 
All like a floating landscape seems 
In cloud-land or the land of dreams, 

Bathed in a golden atmosphere! 

Henri/ Wadsworth Longfellow. 



&3 POEMS OF PLACES. 



Ilammoth Cave, Ky, \ 

MAMMOTH CAYE. 

ALL day, as day is reckoned ou the eartli, \ 

I've wandered in these dim and awful aisles. 
Shut from the blue and breezy dome of heaven, i 

While thoughts, wild, drear, and shadowy, have swept i 

Across my awe-stmck soul, Hke spectres o'er 
The wizard's magic glass, or thunder-clouds ; 

O'er the blue waters of the deep. And now 
I'll sit me down upon yon broken rock 

To muse upon the strange and solemn things j 

Of this mysterious realm. 

All day my steps ] 

Have been amid the beautiful, the ^-ild, < 

The gloomy, the terrific. Crystal founts. 
Almost invisible in their serene 

And pure transparency; high, pillared domes, j 

With stars and flowers all fretted like the halls j 

Of Oriental monarchs ; rivers dark 1 

And drear and voiceless as Oblivion's stream, 
That flows through Death's dim vale of silence; gulfs j 

All fathomless, du-uni which the loosened rock ] 

Plunges until its far-off echoes come 
Painter and fainter like the dying roll 

Of thunders in the distance ; Stygian pools (^ 

Whose agitated waves give back a sound i 

Hollow and dismal, like the sullen roar • 



MAMMOTH CAVE. 93 

In tlie volcano's depths ; — these, these have left 
Their spell upon me, and their memories 
Have passed into my spirit, and are now 
Blent with my being till they seem a part 
Of my own immortality, 

God's hand, 
At the creation, liollowcd ont this vast 
Domain of darkness, where no herb nor flower 
Ere sprang amid the sands, nor dews, nor rains. 
Nor blessed sunbeams fell with freshening power. 
Nor gentle breeze its Eden message told 
Amid the dreadful gloom. Six thousand years 
Swept o'er the earth ere human footprints marked 
This subterranean desert. Centuries 
Like shadows came and past, and not a sound 
Was in this realm, save when at intervals. 
In the long lapse of ages, some huge mass 
Of overhanging roek fell thundering down. 
Its echoes sounding through these corridors 
A moment, and then dying in a hush 
Of silence, such as brooded o'er the earth 
When earth was chaos. The great mastodon, 
The dreaded monster of the elder world. 
Passed o'er this mighty cavern, and his tread 
Bent the old forest oaks like fragile reeds 
And made earth tremble ; armies in their pride 
Perchance have met above it in the "shock 
Of war, with shout and groan, and clarion blast, 
And the hoarse echoes of the thunder gun; 
The storm, the whirlwind, and the hurricau'e 
Have roared above it, and the bursting cloud 



94 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Sent down its red and crashing thunderbolt; ] 

Earthquakes have trampled o'er it in their wrath, • | 

Kocking earth's surface as the storm- wind rocks ' 

The old Atlantic ; — yet no sound of these ; 

Ere came down to the everlasting depths ! 

Of these dark solitudes. . i 

How oft we gaze { 

With awe or admiration on the new ; 

And unfamihar, but pass coldly by ^ 

The lovelier and the mightier ! Wonderful j 

Is this lone world of darkness and of gloom, 
But far more wonderful yon outer world 
Lit by the glorious sun. These arches swell 
Sublime in lone and dim maguificeuce, 
But how sublimer God's blue canopy, | 

Beleaguered with his burning cherubim 
Keeping their watch eternal! Beautiful 
Are all the thousand snow-white gems that lie 
In these mysterious chambers, gleaming out ] 

Amid the melancholy gloom, and wild I 

These rocky hills and cliffs and gulfs, but far j 

More beautiful and wild the things that greet ■ 

The wanderer in our world of liglit : the stars 
Floating on high like islands of the blest; 
The autumn sunsets glowing like the gate ' 

Of far-off Paradise; the gorgeous clouds 
On which the glories of the earth and sky 
Meet and commingle; earth's unnumbered flowers 
All turning up their gentle eyes to heaven; jj 

The birds, with bright wings glancing in the sun, 
Eilling the air with rainbow miniatures; ' 



MAMMOTH CAVE. 



95 



The green old forests surging in the gale ; 
The everlasting mountains, on whose peaks 
The setting sun burns like an altar-flame; 
And ocean, Uke a pure heart rendering back 
Heaven's perfect image, or in his wild wrath 
Heaving and tossing Uke the stormy breast 
Of a chamed giant in his agony. 

George Benison Prentice. 







THE RIVER IN THE MAMMOTH CAYE. 

DARK mysterious stream, I sit by thee 
In awe profound, as myriad wanderers 
Have sat before. I see thy waters move 
Prom out the ghostly glimmerings of my lamp 
Into the dark beyond, as noiselessly 
As if thou wert a sombre river drawn 
Upon a spectral canvas, or the stream 
Of dim Oblivion flowing through the lone 
And shadowy vale of death. There is no wave 
To whisper on thy shore, or breathe a wail, 
Wounding its tender bosom on thy sharp 
And jagged rocks. Innumerous mingled tones, 
The voices of the day and of the night. 
Are ever heard through aU our outer world, 
For Nature there is never dumb; but here 
I turn and turn my listening ear, and catch 
No mortal sound, save that of my own heart, 
That mid the awful stillness throbs aloud, 
Like the far sea-surf's low and measured beat 



96 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Upon its rocky shore. But when a cry 
Or shout or song is raised, how wildly back 
Come the weird echoes from a thousand rocks, 
As if unnumbered airy sentinels, 
The genii of the spot, caught up the voice, 
Repeating it in wonder, — a wild maze 
Of spirit-tones, a wilderness of sounds. 
Earth-born but all unearthly. 

Thou dost seem, 
wizard stream, a river of the dead, — 
A river of some blasted, perished world. 
Wandering forever in the mystic void. 
No breeze e'er strays across thy solemn tide ; 
No bird e'er breaks thy surface with his wing; 
No star or sky or bow is ever glassed 
Within thy depths ; no flower or blade e'er breathes 
Its fragrance from thy bleak banks on the air. 
True, here are flowers, or semblances of flowers. 
Carved by the magic fingers of the drops 
That fall upon thy rocky battlements, — 
Pair roses, tulips, pinks, and violets, — 
All white as cerements of the coffined dead ; 
But they are flowers of stone, and never drank 
The sunshine or the dew. O sombre stream. 
Whence comest thou, and whither goest ? Far 
Above, upon the surface of old Earth, 
A hundred rivers o'er thee pass and sweep, 
In music and in sunshine, to the sea; 
Thou art not born of them. Whence comest thou, 
And whither goest? None of earth can know. 
No mortal e'er has gazed upon thy source, — 



MARAIS DU CYGNE. 97 

No mortal seen where thy dark T^aters blend 

With the abyss of Ocean. None may guess 

The mysteries of thy course. Perchance thou hast 

A hundred mighty cataracts, thundering down 

Toward Earth's eternal centre; but their sound 

Is not for ear of man. All we can know 

Is that thy tide rolls out, a spectre stream, 

From yon stupendous, frowning wall of rock. 

And, moving on a little way, sinks down 

Beneath another mass of rock as dark 

And frowning, even as life, — our little life, — 

Bom of one fathomless eternity. 

Steals on a moment and then disappears 

In an eternity as fathomless. 

George Lenison Prentice. 



Marais du Cygne, Kansas, 

LE MARAIS DU CYGNE. 

The massacre of unaraied and unoffending men in Southern Kansas 
took place near the Marais du Cygne of tlie French voyagenrs. 

ABLUSH as of roses 
Where rose never grew ! 
Great drops on the bunch-grass, 

But not of the dew ! 
A taint in the sweet air 

For wild bees to shun ! 
A stain tliat shall never 
Bleach out in the sun ! 



POEMS OF PLACES. 

Back, steed of tlie prairies ! 

Sweet song-bird, fly back ! 
Wheel hither, bald vulture ! 

Gray wolf, call thy pack ! 1 

The foul human vultures } 

Have feasted and fled ; j 

The wolves of the Border J 

Have crept from the dead. \ 

Trom the hearths of their cabins, j 

The fields of their corn, ! 

Unwarned and unweaponed. 

The victims were torn, — 
By the whirlwind of murder 

Swooped up and swept on ^ 

To the low reedy fen-lands, ] 

The Marsh of the Swan. ] 

\ 
With a vain plea for mercy i 

No stout knee was crooked; < 

In the mouths of the rifles 

Right manly they looked. ; 

How paled the May sunshine, 

Marais du Cygne ! 
On death for the strong life, | 

On red grass for green ! \ 

In the homes of their rearing, ■ j 

Yet warm with their lives. 
Ye wait the dead only. 

Poor children and wives ! 



MARAIS DU CYGNE. 99 

Put out the red forgc-fire, 

The smith shall not come; 
Unyoke the brown oxen. 

The ploughman lies dumb. 

Wind slow from the Swan's Marsh, 

O dreary death-train, 
With pressed lips as bloodless 

As hps of the slain ! 
Kiss down the young eyelids. 

Smooth down the gray hairs; 
Let tears quench the curses 

That burn through your prayers. 

Strong man of the prairies, 

Mourn bitter and wild! 
Wail, desolate woman! 

Weep, fatherless child ! 
But the grain of God sprmgs up 

Prom ashes beneath, 
And the crown of his harvest 

Is life out of death. 

Not in vain on the dial 

The shade moves along. 
To point the great contrasts 

Of right and of wrong: 
Free homes and free altars, 

Pree prairie and flood, — 
The reeds of the Swan's Marsh, 

Whose bloom is of blood ! 



100 POEMS OF PLACES. ^ 

On the lintels of Kansas | 

That blood shall not drj; I 

Henceforth the Bad Angel i 

Shall harmless go by ; i 

Henceforth to the sunset, '\ 

Unchecked on her way, ^ 

Shall Liberty follow \ 

The march of the day. | 

Jo/m Greenleaf Whittier. 3 



Ilemphis, Tenn, 



MEMPHIS. 

AT last he seemed to lose it altogether 
Upon the Mississippi; where he stayed 
His course at Memphis, undecided whether 

He should go back or forward. Here he strayed 
One afternoon along the esplanade 
And high bluff of the river-fronting town, 
To watch the boats and see the sun go down. 

The lyric fit had left him ; but the sight 
Of the strong river sweeping vast and slow, 

Gleaming far off, a flood of crimson light ; 
And, darkly hung between it and the glow 
Of a most lovely sunset sky, the low. 

Interminable forests of Arkansas, 

Might have inspired some very pretty stanzas. 



MEMPHIS. 101 



llllET, 



The esplanade looks down npon the landi 

A broadly slielviiig bank, well trodden and bare. 

Called by a singular misunderstanding 

The levee, — while there is no levee there ; 
The famous landing at New Orleans, where 

There is one, having fixed the name forever 

For that and other landings on the river. 



Acres of merchandise, of eotton-bales, 

And bales of hay, awaiting transportation; 

Ploughs, household goods, and kegs of rum or nails, 
Endless suppHes for village and jDlantation, 
Enclosed a scene of wondrous animation, 

Of outcry and apparent wild confusion 

Contrasting with the sunset's soft illusion; — 

The steamers lying broadside to the stream. 
With delicately pillared decks, the clang 

Of bells, the uproar of escaping steam ; 

There, tugging at some heavy rope, the gang 
or slaves that all together swayed and sang, 

Th ir voices rising in a wild, rich chime, 

To which lithe forms and lithe black arms kept time ; 

The shouts of negro-drivers, droves of mules. 
Driven in their turn by madly yelling blacks ; 

Chairs, tables, kitchen-ware and farmiug-tools, 
Carts, wagons, barrels, boxes, bales, and sacks. 
Pushed, hauled, rolled, tumbled, tossed, or l^rne on 
backs 

Of flics of men, across the ways of plank 

Between the loading steamers and the bank ! 



102 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Then as tlie sunliglit faded from the stream, , 

And deepening shadows cooled the upper air, I 

The waves were lighted by the lurid gleam 

Of flambeaux that began to smoke and flare, , 

And east a picturesque and ruddy glare ] 

On shore and boats and men of every hue. 

John Toicnsend Trowbridge. 



Iliami, the River, Ohio, 

MIAMI WOODS. 

THE autumn time is with us ! — Its approach 
Was heralded, not many days ago. 
By hazy skies, that veiled the brazen sun. 
And sea-like murmurs from the rustling corn. 
And low-voiced brooks that wandered drowsily 
By purpling clusters of the juicy grape. 
Swinging upon the vine. And now, 't is here ! 
And what a change hath passed upon the face 
Of Nature, where the waving forest spreads. 
Then robed in deepest green ! All through the night 
The subtle frost hath plied its mystic art ; 
And in the day the golden sun hath wrought 
True wonders ; and the winds of morn and even 
Have touched with magic breath the changing leaves. 
And now, as wanders the dilating eye 
Athwart the varied landscape, circling far. 
What gorgeousness, what blazonry, what pomp 




The autunm time is with us." See pao'a 102. 



MIAMI, THE RIVER. 103 

Of colors, bursts upon the ravished sight ! 
Here, where the maple rears its yellow crest, 
A golden glory : yonder, where the oak 
Stands monarch of the forest, and the ash 
Is girt with flame-like parasite, and broad 
Tlie dogwood spreads beneath, a rolling field 
Of deepest crimson ; and afar, where looms 
The gnarled gum, a cloud of bloodiest red! 

Out in the woods of Autumn ! — I have cast 
Aside the shackles of the town, that vex 
The fetterless soul, and come to hide myself, 
Miami! in thy venerable shades. 
Low on thy bank, where spreads the velvet moss. 
My limbs recUne. Beneath me, silver-bright. 
Glide the clear waters, with a plaintive moan 
Tor summer's parting glories. High o'erhead, 
Seeking the sedgy lakes of the warm South, 
Sails tireless the unerring waterfowl. 
Screaming among the cloud-racks. Oft from where. 
Erect on mossy trunk, the partridge stands. 
Bursts suddenly the whistle clear and loud, 
Far-echoing through the dim wood's fretted aisles. 
Deep murmurs from the trees, bending with brown 
And ripened mast, are interrupted now 
By sounds of dropping nuts; and warily 
The turkey from the thicket comes, and swift 
As flies an arrow darts the pheasant down, 
To batten on the autumn; and the air. 
At times, is darkened by a sudden rush 
Of myriad wmgs, as the wild pigeon leads 



104 POEMS OF PLACES. 

His squadrons to the banquet. Tar away. 
Where the pawpaw its mellow fruitage yields. 
And thick, dark clusters of the wild grape hang, 
The merry laugh of childhood, and the shout 
Of truant schoolboy, ring upon the air. 
* * * 

William B. Gallagher. 



Michigan, the Lake. 

LAKE MICHIGAN. 

WRITTEN DURING THE JUBILEE AT CHICAGO. 

WHILE thousands throng each crowded mart. 
And gaze around in mute surprise, 
I turn with an adoring heart 

To thee, fair mirror of the skies. 
Yet not in silence can I pour 

My full heart out, fair Lake, to thee. 
So, humbly kneeling on thy shore, 
I chant thy praise, my Jubilee. 

The purple clouds are all drawn back 

From heaven's blue vault, that I may trace 
Its distant verge, — its shining track 

Held to thy heart in close embrace. 
The roseate flush that tinged the sky 

Has slowly turned to burnished gold, 
And every wave that hurries by 

Clasps all of sunhght it can hold. 



MICHIGAN, THE LAKE. 105 

T saw thee not, Lake Michigan, 

Wlien all aglow, — a sheet of flame; 
When forth the frenzied people ran 

To shriek for help, to call thy name. 
Chicago, thine own cherished bride, 

Thou miglitst not succor, couldst not save; 
But fettered lay as flames spread wide 

And scooped for her a yawning grave. 

The loss was ours; we mourned with thee 

That she should fall, — a nation mourned ; 
Nor deemed we then we e'er should see 

Her hopes restored, her strength returned. 
" Forever lost, forever gone ! " 

Came through thy murmuring wavelets' swell; 
" Forever lost, forever gone ! " 

We echoed back, — her funeral knell. 

Yet now, so soon, a wondering throng 

Crowd to thy shore in hushed surprise. 
And there behold (grand theme for song) 

Chicago, Phoenix-like, arise. 
A world lamented when she fell. 

And now, 'neath turret, tower, and dome, 
A multitude of voices tell 

Her year of Jubilee has come. 

Chicago, City of the Lake, 

Bride of this lovely inland sea, 
Thy resurrection-glories wake 

A dream of what thou yet shalt be. 



106 POEMS or PLACES. 

Undaunted in tliy darkest liour. 

Thyself hast brought the awakenmg dawn; 
Thy energy has been the power 

That led, and still shall lead thee on. 

Kate Harrington. 



MAEQUETTE. 

COMPOSED ON LAKE MICHIGAN, BY THE KIVEB WHERE 
MARQUETTE DIED. 

SINK to my heart, bright evening skies ! 
Ye waves that round me roll, 
With all your golden, crimson dyes. 

Sink deep into my soul ! 
And ye, soft-footed stars, — that come 

So silently at even. 
To make this world awhile your home. 

And bring us nearer heaven, — 
Speak to my spirit's listening ear 

With your calm tones of beauty. 
And to my darkened mind make clear 

My errors and my duty. 

Speak to my soul of those who went 

Across this stormy lake. 
On deeds of mercy ever bent 

For the poor Indian's sake. 
They looked to all of you, and each 

Leant smiling from above, 
And taught the Jesuit how to teach 

The omnipotence of love. 



MICHIGAN, THE LAKE. 107 

You gave tlie apostolic tone 

To Marquette's guileless soul, 
Whose lite and labors shall be known 

Long as these waters roll. 
To him the little Indian child, 

Fearless and trustful came, 
Curbed for a time his temper wild, 

And hid his heart of flame. 
With gentle voice, and gentle look, 

Sweet evening star, like thine. 
That heart the missionary took 

From off the war-god's shrine. 
And laid it on the Holy Book, 

Before the Man Divine. 
The blood-stained demons saw with grief 

Far from their magic ring, 
Around their now couA^erted chief. 

The tribe come gathering. 
Marquette's belief was their belief. 

And Jesus was their king. 
Fierce passions' late resistless drift 

Drives now no longer by ; 
*T is rendered powerless by the gift 

Of heaven-fed charity. 

Speak to my heart, ye stars, and tell 

How, on yon distant shore, 
The world-worn Jesuit bade farewell 

To those that rowed him o'er; 
Told them to sit and wait him there, 

And break their daily food. 



108 POEMS OF PLACES. 

While lie to his accustomed prayer 

Retired within the wood; 
Aiid how they saw the day go round. 

Wondering he came not yet, 
Then sought him anxiously, and found. 

Not the kind, calm Marquette, — 
He silently had passed away, — 
• But on the greensward there. 
Before the crucifix, his clay 

Still kneeling, as in prayer. 

Nor let me as a fable deem, 

Told by some artful knave. 
The legend, that the lonely stream. 

By which they dug his grave, 
When wintry torrents from above 

Swept with resistless force. 
Knew and revered the man of love. 

And changed its rapid course. 
And left the low, sepulchral mound 

Uninjured by its side. 
And spared the consecrated ground 

Where he had knelt and died. 
Nor ever let my weak mind rail 

At the poor Indian, 
Who, when the fierce northwestern gale 

Swept o'er Lake Michigan, 
In the last hour of deepest dread 

Knew of one resource yet. 
And stilled the thunder overhead 

By calling on Marquette ! 



MINNEHAHA, THE FALLS. 109 

Sink to my licart, sweet evening skies ! I 

Ye darkening waves that roll i 

Around me, — ye departing dyes, — ] 

Sink to my inmost soul! 
Teach to my heart of hearts that fact, 

Unknown, though known so well, j 

That in each feeling, act, and thought j 

God works by miracle. J 

And ye, soft-footed stars, that come 

So quietly at even, ! 

Teach me to use this world, my home, ! 

So as to make it heaven ! 

James Ilandasi/d Perkins. 



Ifinnehaha, the Falls, Minnesota. 

THE FALLS OF MINNEHAHA. 

THIS was Hiawatha's wooing ! 
Thus it was he won the daughter 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs ! 

Erom the wigwam he departed, 
Leading with him Laugliing Water; 
Hand in hand they went together. 
Through the woodland and the meadow, 
Left the old man standing lonely 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
Heard the Falls of ^Minnehaha 



110 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Calling to them from the distance. 

Crying to them from afar off, 

" Fare thee well, Minnehaha ! " 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Turned again unto his labor. 
Sat down by his sunny doorway, 
Murmuring to himself, and saying : 
''Thus it is our daughters leave us. 
Those we love, and those who love us ! 
Just when they have learned to help us. 
When we are old and lean upon them, 
Comes a youth with flaunting feathers. 
With his flute of reeds, a stranger 
Wanders piping through the village. 
Beckons to the fairest maiden. 
And she follows where he leads her. 
Leaving all things for the stranger ! " 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 



Mission Dolores, Cal. 

THE ANGELUS, 

HEAED AT THE MISSION DOLORES, 1868. 

BELLS of the Past, whose long-forgotten music 
Stni fills the wide expanse, 
Tingeing the sober twilight of the Present 
With colors of romance : 



MISSION DOLOllES. Ill 

I hear your call, and see the sun descending 

On rock and wave and sand, 
As down tlie coast the Mission voices blending 

Girdle the heathen land. 

Within the circle of your incantation 

No blight nor mildew falls ; 
Nor fierce unrest, nor lust, nor low ambition 

Passes those airy walls. 

Borne on the swell of your long waves receding, 

I touch the farther Past, — 
I see the dying glow of Spanish glory, 

The sunset dream and last ! 

Before me rise the dome-shaped Mission towers. 

The white Presidio ; 
The swart commander in his leathern jerkin, 

The priest in stole of snow. 

Once more I see Portala's cross uplifting 

Above the setting sun ; 
And past the headland, northward, slowly drifting 

The freighted galleon. 

O solemn bells ! whose consecrated masses 

Recall the faith of old, — 
O tinkling bells ! that lulled Avith twilight music 

The spiritual fold ! 

Your voices break and falter in the darkness, — 

Break, falter, and are still; 

And veiled and mystic, like the Host descending, 

The sun sinks from the hill ! 

Bret Ilarte. 



113 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Mission Ridge, Tenn. 

ON THE HEIGHTS OF MISSION RIDGE. 

WHEN tlie foes, in conflict heated, 
Battled over road and bridge, 
While Bragg sullenly retreated 

From the heights of Mission Ridge, — 
There, amid the pines and wildwood, 

Two opposing colonels fell, 
Who had schoolmates been in childhood. 
And had loved each other well. 

There, amid the roar and rattle, 

Facing Havoc's fiery breath. 
Met the wounded two in battle. 

In the agonies of death. 
But they saw each other reeling 

On the dead and dying men. 
And the old time, full of feeling. 

Came upon them once again. 

When that night the moon came creeping. 

With its gold streaks, o'er the slain. 
She beheld two soldiers, sleeping, 

Eree from every earthly pain. 
Close beside the mountain heather. 

Where the rocks obscure the sand. 
They had died, it seems, together, 

As they clasped each other's hand, 

J. August'me Signaigo. 



MISSISSIPPI, THE RIVER. 113 

Mississippi, the Biver. 

THE MISSISSIPPI RIYER. 

SHADOWED beneath those awful piles of stone, 
Where Liberty has found a Pisgah height, 
O'erlooking all the land she loves to bless, 

The jagged rocks and icy towers her guard, j 

Whose sphntered summits seize the warring clouds, j 

And roll them, broken, like a host o'erthrown, I 

Adown the mountain's side, scattering their wealth 
Of powdered pearl and liquid diamond drops, — 
There is thy source, — great River of the West ! 

Slowly, like youtliful Titan gathering strength j 

To war with heaven and win himself a name, 

The stream moves onward through the dark ravines. 

Rending the roots of overarching trees, 

To form its narroAV chamiel, where the star. 

That fain would bathe its beauty in the wave, 

Like lover's glance steals, trembling, through the leaves. 

That veil the waters with a vestal's care ; ] 

And few of human form have ventured there, . 

Save the swart savage in his bark canoe. I 

But now it deepens, struggles, rushes on; 

Like goaded war-horse, bounding o'er the foe, ] 

It clears the rocks it may not spurn aside, | 

Leaping, as Curtius leaped adown the gulf, - j 

And risincr, hke Antseus from the fall. 



/ 



114 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Its course majestic through the land pursues, 
Aud the broad River o'er the Valley reigns ! 

It reigns alone. The tributary streams 
Are humble vassals, yielding to its sway. 
And when the wild Missouri fain would join 
A rival in the race, — as Jacob seized 
On his red brother's birthright, even so 
The swelling Mississippi grasps that wave. 
And, rebaptizing, makes the waters one. 

It reigns alone, — and Earth the sceptre feels ; — 
Her ancient trees are bowed beneath the wave. 
Or, rent hke reeds before the whirlwind's swoop. 
Toss on the bosom of the maddened flood, 
A floating forest, till the waters, calmed. 
Like slumbering anaconda gorged with prey. 
Open a haven to the moving mass. 
Or form an island in the dark abyss. 

It reigns alone. Old Nile would ne'er bedew 

The lands it blesses with its fertile tide. 

Even sacred Ganges, joined with Egypt's flood. 

Would shrink beside this wonder of the West ! 

Ay, gather Europe's royal rivers all, — 

The snow-swelled Neva, with an empire's weight 

On her broad breast, she yet may overwhelm; 

Dark Danube, hurrying, as by foe pursued, 

Through shaggy forests and from palace walls. 

To hide its terrors in a sea of gloom ; 

The castled Rhine, whose vine-crowned waters flow. 

The fount of fable and the source of song; 



MISSISSIPPI, THE KIVER. 115 

Tlie rusliing Rlionc, in wliosc cerulean depths 

The lovmg sky seems wedded with the wave; 

The yellow Tiber, choked with Roman spoils, 

A dying miser shrinking 'neath his gold; 

And Seine, where Fashion glasses fairest forms; 

And Thames, that bears tlie riches of the world; 

Gather their waters in one ocean mass, — 

Our Mississippi, rolling proudly on, 

Would sweep them from its path, or swallow up. 

Like Aaron's rod, these streams of fame and song ! 

And thus the peoples, from the many lands. 

Where these old streams are household memories, 

Mmgle beside our river, and are one, 

And join to swell the strength of Freedom's tide, 

That from the fount of Truth is flowing on. 

To sweep earth's thousand tyrannies away. 

How wise, how wonderful the works of God ! 
And, hallowed by his goodness, all are good. 
The creeping glowworm, the careering sun. 
Are kindled from the effluence of his light ; 
The ocean and the acorn-cup are filled 
By gushings from the fountain of his love. 
He poured the Mississippi's torrent forth. 
And heaved its tide above the trembling laud, — 
Grand type how Freedom lifts the citizen 
Above the subject masses of the world, — 
And marked the limits it may never pass. 
Trust in his promises, and bless his power, 
Ye dwellers on its banks, and be at peace. 

And ye, whose way is on this warrior wave. 
When the swobi waters heave with ocean's might, 



116 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And storms and darkness close tlie gate of heaven. 
And the frail bark, fire-driven, bounds quivering on, 
As though it rent the iron shroud of night, 
And struggled with the demons of the flood, — 
Eear nothing ! He who shields the folded flower. 
When tempests rage, is ever present here. 
Lean on " our Father's " breast in faith and prayer. 
And sleep, — his arm of love is strong to save. 

Great Source of being, beauty, light, and love, — 
Creator, — Lord, — the waters worship thee ! 
Ere thy creative smile had sown the flowers, — 
Ere the glad hills leaped upward, or the earth. 
With swelling bosom, waited for her child, — 
Before eternal Love had lit the sun. 
Or Time had traced his dial-plate in stars, — 
The joyful anthem of the waters flowed ; 
And Chaos like a frightened felon fled. 
While on the deep the Holy Spirit moved. 
* * * 

Sarah Josepha Hale. 



TO THE MISSISSIPPI. 

MAJESTIC stream ! along thy banks. 
In silent, stately, solemn ranks, 
The forests stand, and seem with pride 
To gaze upon thy mighty tide ; 
As when, in olden classic time. 
Beneath a soft, blue Grecian chme. 
Bent o'er the stage, in breathless awe. 
Crowds thrilled and trembled, as they saw 



MISSISSIPPI, THE RIVER. 117 

Sweep by the pomp of human Hfe, 

The sounding flood of passion's strife, 

And the great stream of history 

GHde on before the musing eye. 

There, row on row, the gazers rise ; 

Above, look down the arching skies; 

O'er all those gathered multitudes 

Such deep and voiceful silence broods, 

Methinks one mighty heart I hear 

Beat high wdth hope, or quake with fear ; — 

E'en so yon groves and forests seem 

Spectators of this rushing stream. 

In sweeping, circling ranks they rise, 

Beneath the blue o'erarching skies ; 

They crowd around and forward lean, 

As eager to behold the scene, — 

To see, proud river! sparkling wide. 

The long procession of thy tide, — 

To stand and gaze, and feci with thee 

All thy unuttered ecstasy. 

It seems as if a heart did thrill 

Within yon forests, deep and still. 

So soft and ghost-like is the sound 

That stirs their solitudes profound. 

Charles Timothy Brooks. 



118 rOEMS OF PLACES. 



BROTHER ANTONIO. 



rpHE wood-yard fires flare over tlie deck, 

J- As the steamer is moored to a sunken wreck. 

They glare on the smoke-stacks, tall and black; 
They Hush on the quick steam's flying rack; 

But shimmer soft on the curly hair 

Of children crouched by the gangway and stair. 

And rest like hands on the furrowed brow 
Of an old man bent o'er his shrouded frau. 

Dark sweeps the restless river's tide. 

While the pall of night comes down to hide 

Prom the careless gaze of strangers near, 
The pale thin form on the pine-plank bier. 

They had come from the legend-haunted Rhine 
To the grand New World Avhere the free stars shine. 

Seeking the fortune they might not find 
In the Fatherland they had left behind; 

And while the proud fleet ship would toss 
The spray from her wings like an albatross, 

Their shouting children sung vrith glee 
Wild, stirring songs of the brave and free. 

They saw the Indian isles of palm ; 

The Mexique shores with their spice and balm; 



MISSISSIPPI, THE EIVEIl. 119 

And the Mississippi, an inland main. 

With its orange-groves and its fields of cane. 

Sweet, round the tawny river's mouth, 
Blew the rare odors of the South, 

And bright in the reeds, as the steamer sped, 
The white crane gleamed, and the ibis red. 

So, ere thev reached the far-off goal 
Where boundless prairie gardens roll 

From river to mount in their flowery braid 
Like playgrounds by the Titans made; 

While all her little ones round her crept. 
And looked in her d^'ing face and wept, — 

She closed her sunken, faded eyes, 
Forever on alien woods and skies. 

They were far from consecrated ground, 
And the unshorn forest before them frowned; 

But a vagrant footfall would not press 
The lone grave in the wilderness ; 

So, turning away from his cherished dead. 
With a quivering lip old Hermann said. 

As lie looked toward the peaceful, virgin sod, 
"I'll bury her there, in the name of God." 

They dug her grave in the forest lone. 

While the night-wind murmured a sobbing moan, 



120 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And the wood-yard fires, now red, now dim, 

Peopled the dark with spectres grim. 

* * * 

The old man kneels in the sacred place; 

On the cold damp clay he lays his face ; 

When out from the gloom of a moss-hung tree, 
A low voice murmurs, " Pray for me." 

He sees in the thicket a dark-browed man 
Wliere the green palmetto spreads its fan; 

His tall form hid in the darkening night. 
His face aglow in the flambeau's light. 

A moment more, and a palm-branch fair 
Is laid on the fresh-heaped liiUock there ; 

The stranger kneels by the silent dead, — 
" I, too, have buried my life," he said. 
* * * 

Fair in the morning's rosy fire 
Saint Lazarus lifts its silver spire. 

The river circles the garden round. 

And the still, bird-haunted burying-ground. 

Children about the cloisters play. 
And tell, as a tale of yesterday. 

How the comer-stone by the bishop was laid, 
And Brother Antonio a deacon made, — 

Brother Antonio, round whose head 

The brown bees hum when the hives are fed: 



MISSISSIPPI, THE RIVER. 121 

Wlio pulls the weeds from the garden-walks, 
And shields from the sun the tender stalks; 

In whose boat the fisher's children ride 
And sing as he rows to the farther side ; 

About whose feet each helpless thing 

May buzz and blossom and crawl and sing, — 

Brother Antonio, who gave his gold 

To build this home for the sick and old; 

Who teaches the lads in the village class; 
Who helps old Hermann mow the grass. 

Or sits at his door in the twilight dim, 

And sings with his sons their mother's hymn. 

The ships come in with their emigrant poor 
Crowded like sheep on the steerage-floor; 

But smiles on the lips of the feeblest play 
As Brother Antonio leads the way. 

Guiding their babes with a tender care 
Down the noisy deck and the gangway-stair 

To the hospital grounds so fresh and cool, 
Where the gold-fish glance in the sparkling pool. 

And the gentle Sisters day and night 
Watch by the sick on their couches white. 

Many a nook in the graveyard fair 
Is bright with lilies and roses rare; 



122 POEMS OF PLACES. 

But one wild spot by the river-side 
Is fairest at midnight's solemn tide; 

And there, where the green palmetto's fan 
Shadows a headstone gray and wan, 

Where the long moss swings and the eddies moan, 

Brother Antonio prays, alone. 

* * * 

Annie Chamhers-KetcJium, 



ON THE BLUFF. 

GRANDLY flowing river ! 
silver-gliding river! 
Thy springing willows shiver 

In the sunset as of old; 
They shiver in the silence 
Of the willow-whitened islands. 
While the sun-bars and the sand-bars 
Fill air and wave with gold. 

O gay, oblivious river ! 
O sunset-kindled river ! 
Do you remember ever 

The eyes and skies so blue 
On a summer day that shone here, 
When we were all alone here. 
And the blue eyes were too wise 

To speak the love they knew ? 

O stern impassive river ! 
still unanswering river ! 



MISSISSIPPI, THE EIVEU. 123 

The shivering willows quiver 
As the night-winds moan and rave. 

From the past a voice is calling, 

From heaven a star is faUing, 

And dew swells in the bluebells 
Above her hillside grave. 

John Hay. 



■ THE MISSISSIPPI. 

THE Mississippi of the North ! bright stream 
On whose fair bosom first of all their race, 
Marquette and JoHet float, and fondly dream 
Of empires new and heathen brought to grace. 
How pride and wonder lighted up each face 
While down tlie stream the brave explorers sped, 
Marking the devious wmdings as they trace 
The noble river's wood-environed bed 
To where Missouri's waves the gentle waters wed, 
* * * 

Untamed and restless river ! in thy bed, 
From Cape Girardeau to the delta's verge, 
Vibrating waywardly ; thy wild waves fed 
With spoil of shores down-fallen in the surge. 
And floating forests, which thy waters urge 
In endless drift into the distant sea, 
'\ATiere thou and all thy hundred confluents merge; 
In thy long reaching flow still shalt thou be 
From man's restraining masonry forever free ! 
* * * 

Edward Reynolds. 



124 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Monterey, Cal. 

THE PINE FOREST OF MONTEREY. 

TT7HAT point of Time, unchronicled, and dim 

' * As yon gray mist that canopies your heads. 
Took from the greedy wave and gave the sun 
Your dwelHng-place, ye gaunt and hoary Pines? 
When, from the barren bosoms of the hills. 
With scanty nurture, did ye slowly climb. 
Of these remote and latest-fashioned shores 
The first-born forest? Titans gnarled and rough, 
Such as from out subsiding Chaos grew 
To clothe the cold loins of the savage earth. 
What fresh commixture of the elements. 
What earliest thrill of hfe, the stubborn soil 
Slow-mastering, engendered ye to give 
The hills a mantle and the wind a voice ? 
Along the shore ye hft your rugged arms. 
Blackened with many fires, and with hoarse chant, — 
Unlike the fibrous lute your co-mates touch 
In elder regions, — fill the awful stops 
Between the crashing cataracts of the surf. 
Have ye no tongue, in all your sea of sound. 
To syllable the secret, — no still voice 
To give your airy myths a shadowy form. 
And make us of lost centuries of lore 
The rich inheritors ? 

The sea-winds pluck 
Your mossy beards, and gathering as they sweep. 



MONTEREY. 



125 



Vex your liigli lieads, and with your sinewy arms 
Grapple and toil in vain. A deeper roar, 
Siilleu and cold, and rousing into spells 
Of stormy volume, is your sole reply. 
Anchored in firm-set rock, ye ride the blast, 
And from the promontory's utmost verge 
Make signal o'er the waters. So ye stood, 
When, like a star, behind the lonely sea. 
Far slione the white speck of Grijalva's sail ; 
And when, through driving fog, the breaker's sound 
Friglited Otondo's men, your spicy breath 
Played as in welcome round their rusty helms, 
And backward from its staff shook out the folds 
Of Spain's emblazoned banner. 

Ancient Pines, 
Ye bear no record of the years of man. 
Spring is your sole historian, — Spring, that paints 
These savage shores with hues of Paradise ; 
That decks your branches with a fresher green. 
And through your lonely, far canadas pours 
Her floods of bloom, rivers of opal dye 
That wander down to lakes and widening seas 
Of blossom and of fragrance, — laugliing Spring, 
That with her wanton blood refills your veins, 
And weds ye to your juicy youth again 
With a new ring, the while your rifted bark 
Drops odorous tears. Your knotty fibres yield 
To the light touch of her unfailing pen. 
As freely as the Inpin's violet cup. 
Ye keep, close-locked, the memories of her stay, 



126 POEMS OF PLACES. 



As in tlieir shells the avelones keep ' 

Morn's rosy flush and moonlight's pearly glow. i 

The wild northwest, that from Alaska sweeps, ! 

To drown Point Lobos with the icy scud 

And white sea-foam, may. rend your boughs and leave [ 

Their blasted antlers tossing in the gale; 

Your steadfast hearts are mailed against the shock. 

And on their annual tablets naught inscribe , 

Of such rude visitation. Ye are still ' 

The simple children of a guiltless soil, i 

And in your natures show the sturdy grain i 

That passion cannot jar, nor force relax. 

Nor aught but sweet and kindly airs compel 

To gentler mood. No disappointed heart 

Has sighed its bitterness beneath your shade; 

No angry spirit ever came to make 

Your silence its confessional; no voice, • 

Grown harsh in Crime's great market-place, the world, j 

Tainted with blasphemy your evening hush j 

And aromatic air. The deer alone, — j 

The ambushed hunter that brings down the deer, — 

The fisher wandering on the misty shore 

To watch sea-lions wallow in the flood, — , 

The shout, the sound of hoofs that chase and fly, 

When swift vaqueros, dashing through the herds. 

Ride down the angry bull, — perchance, the song 

Some Indian heired of long-forgotten sires, — ; 

Disturb your solemn chorus. ; 

Stately Pines, ] 

But few more years around the promontory ^ 



MONTEREY. 127 

Your cliant will meet the thunders of the sea. 
No more, a barrier to the encroaching sand, 
Against the surf ye '11 stretch defiant arm, 
Though with its onset and besieging shock 
Your firm knees tremble. Nevermore the wind 
Shall pipe shrill music through your mossy beards. 
Nor sunset's yellow blaze athwart your heads 
Crown all the liills with gold. Your race is past : 
The mystic cycle, whose unnoted birth 
Coeval was with yours, has run its sands, 
And other footsteps from these changing shores 
Frighten its haunting S[)irit. Men will come 
To vex your quiet with the din of toil; 
The smoky volumes of the forge will stain 
This pure, s^veet air; loud keels will ride the sea, 
Dashing its glittering sapphire into foam ; 
Through all her green cailadas Spring will seek 
Her lavish blooms in vain, and chisping ye, 
mournful Pines, within her glowing arms, 
Will weep soft rains to find ye fallen low. 
Fall, therefore, yielding to the fiat ! Fall, 
Ere the maturing soil, whose first dull hfe 
Fed your belated germs, be rent and seamed ! 
Fall, like the chiefs ye sheltered, stern, unbent, 
Your gray beards hiding memorable scars ! 
The winds will mourn ye, and the barren hills 
Whose breast ye clothed ; and when the pauses come 
Between the crashing cataracts of the surf, 
A funeral silence, terrible, profound. 
Will make sad answer to the listening sea. 

Bayard Taylor. 



128 POEMS OF PLACES. 



Mount Bose, Nevada, 

MOUNT ROSE. 

WE readied the top — I scarce know how 
And stood upon the mountain's brow. 
Our weary limbs and wasted strength 
Are straightway all forgotten now. 
What vastness and sublimity 
Were spread before our eager gaze ! 
What wild and varied scenery! 
Wliat pictures for the poet's lays ! 
Among the passing clouds we stood 
And looked about us, and below. 
O'er mountains, valleys, lakes, and wood, 
And rivers in meandering flow, 
As lovely as God's tinted bow. 
East, and below, lay Washoe Vale, 
The Village, and the shining Lake, 
And Steamboat's boiling springs, that pour 
Their scalding torrents through the crust 
And make tlieir sounding caverns quake. 
As struggling currents hiss and roar, 
A hundred seething jets of steam 
Out from the foaming founts are thrust. 
Along the white crustation seam, 
And in the sunlight palely gleam, 
Weird as the spectres of a dream. 
And yet we see them when awake. 
Then next the gloomy peaks that break 



MOUNT ROSE. 129 

The morning sunbeams from the dale. 

Beyond, the desert dim and pale, 

The salt lagoons and Carson's Smk. 

Then further, like a stolen link 

From out Sierra's mighty chain, 

Humboldt's blue peaks rise from the plain. 

While far on the horizon's brink, 

Full fifty weary leagues away, 

Reese River Mountains rise on high, 

A jagged wall against the sky. 

The seeming eastern verge of day. 

Northward are spread the Truekee Meads, 

Where Truekee River winding speeds 

Toward the foothills, where lies hid 

The haunted Lake of Pyramid; 

In which the flashing river pours 

The current of its liquid stores. 

There like a sullen pool it stands. 

Evaporates and feeds the sands; 

The wonder of the desert vale. 

The scene of many an Indian tale 

Of love and valor, virtue, vice. 

And treachery, and cowardice. 

* * * 

Next, fartlier nortli, lies Crystal Peak; 
And still beyond, the Mountain Twins 
Tower side by side so brown and bleak ; 
Their height, and shape, and sameness wins 
Attention from the roaming eye 
By reason of their symmetry. 
Northwest afar looms Lassen's Butte, 



130 POEMS OF PLACES. 

High towering, without dispute. 
The monarch of a wide domain 
Of mountain-range and vale and plain. 
While nearer, carpeted in green. 
Sierra Valley lies between. 
Next, westward, spreading out below, 
Pride of the waters of the world, 
Sierras' gem, famed Lake Tahoe, 
Among the craggj peaks enfurled. 

Extends her mirrored sheet elate ; { 

Her eastern shore, the Silver State, I 

Her western, California. j 

There like a sleeping nymph she lay ! 

In isolation hid away. ; 

From old Mount Rose range, side by side, I 

Southward, a long majestic chain j 

Of wooded mountains. Ophir Slide, I 

A lofty summit cleft in twain ; 

By melting snows, has ta'en a ride ' 

And caught a footing on the plain. ' 

"We let our vision roam again, 

And catch a view of Carson's stream, , 

A river lovely as a dream ; ! 

Fresh from the haunts of lasting snow, * 

It carries gladness in its flow 
Along the grassy vale below. 
Next, Silver Mountain strikes the view; 
Its proud companion, tried and true, [ 

The Great Mogul, is full in sight, \ 

Full crowned in never-failing white, i 

And chief among the Alpine crew. I 

John Brayshavo Kaye, \ 

\ 



OHIO, THE lUVEll. 131 



Ohio, the Biver. j 



PASSAGE DOWN THE OHIO. 

AS down Oliio's ever ebbing tide, 
Oarlcss and sailless, silently they glide. 
How still the scene, how lifeless, yet how fair 
Was the lone land that met the stranger there ! 
No smiUng villages or curling smoke 
The busy haunts of busy men bespoke; 
No sohtary hut, the banks along, 
Sent forth blithe labor's homely, rustic song; 
No urchin gambolled on the smooth, white sand. 
Or hurled the skipping-stoue with playful hand, 
While playmate dog plunged in the clear blue wavfe, 
And swam, in vain, the sinking prize to save. 
Where now are seen, along the river-side. 
Young, busy towns, in buxom, painted pride, 
And fleets of gliding boats with riches crowned. 
To distant Orleans or St. Louis bound. 
Nothing appeared but nature unsul)ducd. 
One endless, noiseless woodland solitude. 
Or boundless prairie, that aye seemed to be 
As level and as lifeless as the sea; 
They seemed to breathe in this wide world alone, 
Heirs of the earth — the land was all their own ! 
'T was evening now : the hour of toil was o'er. 
Yet still they durst not seek the fearfid shore. 
Lest watchful Indian crew should silent creep. 



132 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And spring upon and murder them in sleep ; 

So through the livelong night they held their way. 

And 't was a night might shame the fairest day ; 

So still, so bright, so tranquil was its reign, 

They cared not though the day ne'er came again. 

The moon high wheeled the distant hills above. 

Silvered the fleecy foliage of the grove. 

That as the wooing zephyrs on it fell, 

Wliispered it loved the gentle visit well. 

That fair-faced orb alone to move appeared, 

That zephyr was the only sound they heard. 

No deep-mouthed hound the hunter's haunt betrayed, 

No lights upon the shore or waters played, 

No loud laugh broke upon the silent air. 

To tell the wanderers, man was nestling there. 

All, all was still, on gliding bark and shore. 

As if the earth now slept to wake no more. 

James Kirke Paulding. 



THE OHIO. 

ALL hail to thee, Ohio, lovely stream. 
That sweepest, murmuring, by, in holy dream, 
New cities with their market-din profane. 
Colossal rocks and fields of golden grain! 

Emblem of Time, here drifts along on thee. 
Uprooted by the storm, the giant tree. 
The steamer's floating palace there we view. 
And yonder skims the red-man's birch canoe ! 



OHIO, THE RIVER. 133 

Here heardcst thou the Briton's haggling Avord, 
Tliere the poor, errant Indian's moan was heard. 
Thou listenest now the German's heartfelt song, 
That homeward floats on tide of yearning strong ! 

Thou sang'st my eradle-song, thou wast to me, 
In youth, the mirror fair of purity. 
And whisperest to my heart in manhood's hour 
Full many a word of earnestness and power ! 

Thou see'st my father's house, so German, there, 

As if in airy flight such angel-pair, 

As bore Loretto's house of charity, 

Right from the Rhine had brought thee o'er the sea. 

I greet you, ye twin Lares, I your child; 
Great Prederick, thee ! thee, Joseph, wise and mild ! — 
A rose-bush, climbing, peeps through window-pane. 
He too, as twig, once measured the wide main. 

He sailed, one day, an Argonaut of spring, 
From \}\e safe port of home took sudden wing, 
The golden sun-fleece of far springs to And, 
And left his darling nightingale behind. 

Thy love of home, German ! hath a glow 
Like to the fiery wine's that sparkles so, 
And which, o'er farthest seas transported, glows 
More deeply and a richer flavor shows. 

Before the house there lies a field ; all round, 
Stumps of felled trees stand scattered o'er the ground, 



134 POEMS OF PLACES. 

All old-world's forum, of whose columns tall 
The storming foe left many a pedestal. 

And in the midst, on one, his deeds to scan. 

As Triumphator, sits a grave old man; 

His flashing axe, the sceptre in his hand. 

His plough, a conqueror's car, drove through the land ! 

That is my sire ! His bristling host behold ! 
Ranged, lance to lance, and gUtteriiig all in gold ! 
The golden grain encamping near and far. 
To guard their kernel, all arrayed for war ! 

Troops of the Rhine are they, whose tents he bore, 
And, victor, planted on Ohio's shore; 
Like homesick soldiers on a foreign strand. 
They Avhisper of their far, dear Tatheiiand. 

Gay swarms of humming-birds of brightest hue, 
Like damsels, flutter round, the ranks to woo ; 
Ye wantons ! leave me not unnerved, unmanned, — 
One heart in all that noble foreign band ! 

The herd that night brings lowing to thy gate, 
O hero, is thy Poet Laureate; 
Like his, their voice, when hunger wakes their cries, 
In loudest, loftiest strains will ever rise. 

See giant trees thy axe forbore to smite. 
Stretch out their arms, festooned in towering height. 
With wanton serpent-flowers; — they suppliant stand. 
Envoys of peace they came from forest-land ! 



OHIO, THE IIIVER. 135 

And nightly, wlien, through the old wood's dark green, 
Myriads of fireflies, glancing, light the scene, 
'T is the illumination's festal blaze 
The captive city to its conqueror pays ! 

But lo, by moonlight, yonder, dead and bare, 
A few old patriarchs lilt their arms in air. 
Like ghosts of veterans in the battle slain. 
Wringing their hands and Avri thing on the plain ! 

Lo, the far billows of a fiery sea ! 

The camp-fire of the routed host may 't be ? 

As if a choir of seraphs swung on high 

The flaming sword, the wood lights up the sky ! 

The window-rose reflects the reddening light. 
She nods a greeting to the outer night, 
Yet to console her, all these charms will fail, 
For the familiar German nightingale. 

Thou hast achieved a noble Fatherland ! 
Why sinks, old man, thy head upon thy hand? 
Do the still roses of thy heart, too, miss 
The nightingale of home to crown their bliss? 

Graf von Auersperg. Tr. C. T. Brooks. 



THE OHIO. 

LO, our waiting ark is freighted; 
In its depths of oak and pine 
Ail our household gods are gathered, — 
Thine, my noble friend, and mine ! 



136 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Here tlie laugliter-loving children 
Gaze, with wonder-filling eyes, 

With the maidens whose emotions, 
Like the waters, fall and rise. 

Here are youths whose westward fancies 
Chase the forest-sheltered game; 

Here are men with soul and sinew 
Which no wilderness can tame. 

Here are matrons, full of courage, — 
Worthy these the pioneers, — 

And the patriarch lends a sanction 
In the wisdom of his years. 

Axe and team, and plough and sickle, * 
In the hold are gathered all ; 

And, methiuks, I hear the woodlands. 
Mid their thundering echoes, fall. 

And behold the great logs blazing, 
Till the ashen fields are bare. 

And a boundless harvest springing, — 
The response of toil and prayer ! 

Draw the foot -board, loose the cables, 
Free the wharf, and man the oars; 

Give the broad keel to the river. 
Bid adieu to crowded shores : 

Wliarves where Europe's venturous exiles 
Throng with all their hopes and cares,- 



OHIO, THE KIVER. 137 

Sircs of future states of freemen, 
Standing mid tlieir waiting wares. 

Bid adieu tlie Iron City, 

With its everlasting roar, 
Whose Niagara of traffic 

Flows to westward evermore. 

Where the cloud swings into heaven. 

And the furnace flames disgorge, 
With the multitudinous clamor 

Of the factory and the forge. 

In yon mountains, like the eagles. 
Brood the rivers at their springs. 

Then descend, with sudden swooping. 
On their far and flashing wings. 

Here tlie dashing Alleghany 

And Monongahela meet, 
And a moment whirl and dally 

Hound the city's crowded feet; 

Till, anon, with wedded pinions, 
How they sweep the shores as one. 

Driving westward, ever westward. 
In the pathway of the sun. 

Like a cloud upon the storm-wind. 

Now our heaving ark careers ; 
Or some great bridge which a freshet 

Bears in triumph from its piers. 



138 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Down we sweep; and yonder steamer 
Smoking round the distant liill. 

With its swift wheel flashing splendor. 
Like the loud wheel of a mill. 

Shall not fright us, though the waters 
Sweep our deck with foamy force. 

While the angel of Adventure, 

With true courage, guides our course. 

And the river, Hke our pui-pose. 
Brooks no voice which bids it wait. 

Bearing onward, ever onward, 
"Wliere the forest opes its gate; 

Opes the gate that hung for ages. 

Rusting in its old repose. 
Which, once swung upon its hinges. 

There 's no giant hand can close. 

Far beyond that ancient portal 
We will pitch our camp, nor rest 

Till from out our forest cabins 

Spring the homesteads of the West. 

Thomas Buchanan Read, 



BLENNERHASSET'S ISLAND. 

ONCE came an exile, longing to be free. 
Born in the greenest island of the sea; 
He sought out this, the fairest blooming isle 
That ever gemmed a river; and its smUe 



OHIO, THE RIVER. 139 

Of summer green and freedom on his heart 

Fell, like the light of Paradise. Apart 

It lay, remote and wild; and in his breast 

He fancied this an Island of the Blest ; 

And here he deemed the world might never mar 

The tranquil air with its molesting jar. 

Long had his soul, among the strife of men, 

Gone out and fought, and, fighting, failed ; and then 

Withdrew into itself; as when some fount 

Finds space -vidthin, and will no longer mount. 

Content to hear its own secluded waves 

Make lonely music in the new-found caves. 

And here he brought his household ; here his wife. 

As happy as her cliildren, round his life 

Sang as she were an echo, or a part 

Of the deep pleasure springing in his heart, — 

A silken string which with the heavier cord 

Made music, such as well-strung harps afford. 

She was the embodied spirit of the man. 

His second self, but on a fairer plan. 

And here they came, and here they built their home, 

And set the rose and taught the vines to roam. 

Until the place became an isle of bowers, 

Where odors, mist-like, swam above the flowers. 

It was a place where one might lie and dream. 

And see the Naiads, from the river-stream, 

Stealing among the umbrous, drooping limbs ; 

Where Zephyr, mid the willows, tuned her hymns 

Round ri])pliiig shores. Here would the first birds 

throng 
In early spring-time, and their latest song 



140 POEMS OF PLACES, 

Was given in autumn; when all else liad fled. 

They half forgot to go; such beauty here was spread. 

It was, in sooth, a fair enchanted isle. 

Round which the unbroken forest, many a mile, 

Reached the horizon like a boundless sea ; — 

A sea whose waves, at last, were forced to flee 

On either hand, before the westward host, 

To meet no more upon its ancient coast. 

But all things fair, save truth, are frail and doomed; 

And brightest beauty is the first consumed 

By envious Time ; as if he crowned the brow 

With loveliest flowers, before he gave the blow 

Which laid the victim on the hungry shrine ; — 

Such was the dreamer's fate, and such, bright isle, was 

thine. 
There came the stranger, heralded by fame, 
Whose eloquent soul was like a tongue of flame, 
Which brightened and despoiled whate'er it touched. 
A violet, by an iron gauntlet clutched, 
Were not more doomed than whosoe'er he won 
To list his plans, with glowing words o'errun: 
And Blennerhasset liearkened as he planned. 

Far in the South there was a glorious land, 
Crowned with perpetual flowers, and wliere repute 
Pictured the gold more plenteous than the fruit, — 
The Persia of the West. There would he steer 
His conquering course ; and o'er the bright land rear 
His far-usurping banner, till his home 
Should rest beneath a wide, imperial dome, 
Where License, round his throned feet, should whirl 
Her dizzy mazes Hke an orient girl. 



OHIO, THE RIVER. 141 

His followers should be lords ; their ladies each 

Wear wreaths of gems beyond the old world's reach; 

And emperors, gazing at that land of bloom, 

With impotent fire of envy should consume. 

Such was the gorgeous vision which he drew. 

The listener saw; and, dazzled by the view,— | 

As one in some enchanter's misty room, \ 

His senses poisoned by the strange perfume, ; 

Beholds with fierce desire the picture fair, | 

And grasps at notiiing in the painted air, — 

Gave acquiescence, in a fatal hour, 

And wealtli and hope and peace were in the tempter's , 

power. j 

The isle became a rendezvous ; and then \ 

Came in the noisy rule of lawless men. ^ 

Domestic calm, affrighted, fled afar, ^ 

And Riot revelled 'neath the midnight star. \ 

Continuous music rustled through the trees, ! 

Where banners danced responsive on the breeze; ! 

Or in festoons, above the astonished bowers, ; 

With flaming colors shamed the modest flowers. I 

There clanged the mimic combat of the sword, ! 

Like daily glasses round the festive board; ^ | 
Here lounged the chiefs, there marched the plumed file, 

And martial splendor overran the isle. I 

Already, the shrewd leader of the sport ', 

The shadowy sceptre grasped, and swayed his court. ; 

In dreams or waking, revelling or alone, \ 
Before him swam the visionary tln'oue; 
Until a voice, as if the insulted woods 

Had risen to claim their ancient solitudes, i 



142 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Broke on liis spirit, like a trumpet rude, 
Shattering his dream to nothing where he stood! 
The revellers vanished, and the banners fell. 
Like the red leaves beneath November's spell. 
Tull of great hopes, sustained by mighty will. 
Urged by ambition, confident of skill. 
As fearless to perform as to devise, 
Aflush, but now he saw the glittering prize 
riame like a cloud in day's descending track; 
But, lo, the sun went down, and left it black! 
Alone, despised, defiance in his eye. 
He heard the shout, and "Treason!" was the cry; 
And that harsh word, with its unpitying blight. 
Swept o'er the island like an arctic niglit. 
Cold grew the liearthstone, witliered fell the flowers. 
And desolation wallced among the bowers. 

This was the mansion. Through the ruined hall 
The loud winds sweep, with gusty rise and fall. 
Or glide, like phantoms, through the open doors; 
And winter drifts his snow along the floors, 
Blown through the yawning rafters, where the stars 
And moon look in as through dull prison bars. 
On yonder gable, through the nightly dark. 
The owl replies unto the dreary bark 
Of lonely fox, beside the grass-grown sill; 
And liere, on summer eves, tlie whippoorwill 
Exalts her voice, and to the traveller's ear 
Proclaims how Ruin rules with full contentment here. 

Thomas Buchanan Read. 



OHIO, THE RIVER. 143 



THE BEAUTIFUL RIVER. 



AN old, familiar friend ! I saw the flow 
Of wayward Wabash to Ohio's flood, 
Long leagues away from where I learned to know 
And love the stream ; and on its banks I stood 
As friend meets friend in some familiar wood. 
Its ripples, wrought to flecks of ashy foam; 
Its bright, clay-tinted waves ; its finny brood ; 

And even the sliclls half-buried in the loam, — j 

All came to me like welcome messages from home. j 

Here meet and mingle genially in one ! 

The Wabash with Ohio's silver wave. 

The Beautiful River ! How its waters run, ; 

Inspiring joy and plenty as they lave j 

The smiling land they irrigate to save. i 

The Beautiful River ! — gentle, clear, and bright, — 1 

Beloved now as when the ancient brave 

Propelled his swift canoe athwart the light, i 

Where gorgeous palace boats now break upon the sight. I 

I 
Green islands gem the bosom of the stream ; \ 

Their sandy slopes beneath the waters dip ; i 

And on the wooded banks the sunbeams gleam, j 

Reflected in the dew-drops as they drip \ 

From oaks and elms, and clinging vines that grip | 

The leafy boughs with loving tendrils strong; ! 

The trumpet-flowers smile witli ruddy hp; 
The mistletoe extends the boughs along, 

And wooes the graceful jay-bird's hoarse but cheerful song. 

Edicard Reynolds. 



144 POEMS OF PLACES. 



THE OHIO. . 

FLOW on, tlioii glorious river, 
Thy mountain-shores between, 
To where the Mexique's stormy waves 
Dash on savannas green. 
riow on, between the forests 
That bend above thy side. 
And 'neath the sky and stars, that lie 
Mirrored within thy tide. 

High in the distant mountains 

Thy first small fountains gush, 

And down the steep, through the ravine, 

In shallow rills they rush; 

Till in the level valley. 

To which the hills descend, 

Converging from the summits, meet 

The thousand rills, and blend. 

And soon the narrow mountain stream, 

O'er which a child might leap. 

Holds on its course with a giant's force, 

In a channel broad and deep. 

High up among the mountains. 

The fisher boy is seen, 

Alone and lounging in the shade. 

Along the margin green ; 

And not a sound disturbs him, save 

A squirrel or a bird. 



PASO DEL MAE. 145 

Or on the autumn leaves tlie noise 
" Of dropping nuts is heard." 
But here the city crowds upon 
The freedom of the wave, 
And many a happy village bank 
Thy flowing waters lave. 
Upon thy tranquil bosom float 
An empire's burdened keels. 
And every tributary stream 
An empire's wealth reveals. 

Flow on, thou mighty river ! 

High-road of nations, "flow ! 

And thou slialt flow, when all the woods 

Upon thy sides are low. 

Yes, thou shalt flow eternally, 

Though on thy peopled shore 

Tlie rising town and dawning state 

Should sink to rise no more. 

* * * 

Ephraim Teahody. 



Paso Del 3far, Cal 

THE FIGHT OF TASO DEL MAR. 

GUSTY and raw was the morning, 
A fog hung over the seas, 
And its gray skirts, rolling inland. 
Were torn by the mountain trees ; 



146 POEMS OF PLACES. 

No sound was heard but the dashing 

Of waves on the sandy bar. 
When Pablo of San Diego 

Rode down to the Paso del Mar. 

The pescador, out in his shallop. 

Gathering his harvest so wide, 
Sees the dim bulk of the headland 

Loom over the waste of the tide ; 
He sees, like a white thread, the pathway 

Wind round on the terrible wall, 
Where the faint, moving speck of the rider 

Seems hovering close to its fall. 

Stout Pablo of San Diego 

Rode down from the hills behind; 
With the bells on his gray mule tinkling 

He sang through the fog and wind. 
Under his thick, misted eyebrows 

Twinkled his eye like a star. 
And fiercer he sang as the sea-winds 

Drove cold on the Paso del Mar. 

Now Bernal, the herdsman of Chino, 

Had travelled the shore since dawn. 
Leaving the ranches behind him, — 

Good reason had he to be gone ! 
The blood was still red on his dagger. 

The fury was hot in his brain. 
And the chill, driving scud of the breakers 

Beat thick on his forehead in vain. 



PASO DEL MAR. 147 

With bis ponclio wrapped gloomily round liiin, 

He mounted the dizzying road, 
And the chasms and steeps of the headland 

Were slippery and wet, as he trod : 
Wild swept the wind of the ocean, 

RolUng tlie fog from afar, 
When near him a mule-bell came tinkling, 

Midway on the Paso del Mar. 

"Back ! " shouted Bcrnal, full fiercely. 

And "Back!" shouted Pablo, in wrath, 
As his mule halted, startled and shrinking, 

On the perilous line of the path. 
The roar of devouring surges 

Came up from the breakers' hoarse war; 
And, " Back, or you perish ! " cried Bernal, 

"I turn not on Paso del Mar!" 

The gray mule stood firm as the headland: 

He clutched at the jingling rein. 
When Pablo rose up in his saddle 

And smote till he dropped it again. 
A wild oath of passion swore Bernal, 

And brandished his dagger, still red, 
While fiercely stout Pablo leaned forward. 

And fought o'er his trusty mule's head. 

They fought till the black wall bolow them 
Shone red through the misty blast ; 

Stout Pablo then struck, leaning farther, 
The broad breast of Bcrnal at last. 



148 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And, frenzied with pain, the swart herdsman 
Closed on him with terrible strength. 

And jerked him, despite of his struggles, 
Down from the saddle at length. 

Thej grappled with desperate madness. 

On the slippery edge of the wall; 
They swayed on the brink, and together 

Reeled out to the rush of the fall. 
A cry of the wildest death-anguish 

Rang faint through the mist afar. 
And the riderless mule went homeward 

Trom the fight of the Paso del Mar. 

Bayard Taylor. 



Pescadero, Cal. 

THE PESCADERO PEBBLES. 

WHERE slopes the beach to the setting sun. 
On the Pescadero shore, 
Eor ever and ever the restless surf 
Rolls up with its sullen roar. 

And grasping the pebbles in white hands, 

And chafing them together, 
And grinding them against the cliffs- 

In stormy and sunny weather, 

It gives them never any rest; 
All day, aU niglit, the pain 



PESCADERO. 149 

Of their long agony sobs on. 
Sinks, and then swells again. 

And tourists come from every clime | 

To search with eager care, ' 

Eor those whose rest has been the least ; 

For such have grown most fair. | 

J 

But yonder, round a point of rock, ! 

In a quiet, sheltered cove, ^ 

Where storm ne'er breaks, and sea ne'er comes, 

Tiie tourists never rove. 

I 
The pebbles lie 'neath the sunny sky | 

Quiet forevermore; I 

In dreams of everlasting peace j 

They sleep upon the shore. 

But ugly, and rough, and jagged still, j 

Are they left by the passing years; j 

For they iniss the beat of angry storms, i 

And the surf that drips in tears. J 

The hard turmoil of the pitiless sea . i 

Turns the pebble to beauteous gem. i 

They who escape the agony I 

Miss also the diadem. J 

Mi not Judson Savage. j 



150 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Pine Bluffs, Ark 

THE OLD WHAKF. 

SAD, broken, and scarred, with a careworn look, 
It is never a place that a fay miglit haunt, 

This brown old wharf, where the murky waves 
Porever in idle monotone chant 
A story which seems but nothing sometimes. 
Save a babble of foolish and quaint old rhymes; 
Like the broken fragments of winds that fell 
With sweet spring, swept to her flowery dell. 

Or yet to their deep-toned caves, 
"Whose soft blue gloom hath defied the sun, 
But the love-warm rays of the moonlight won. 

Sad, broken, and scarred, with its careworn look, — 

And no one thinks it can ever be more 
Than the brown old wharf by the idle waves. 

With hurrying cloudlets passing o'er; 
But I often think if these could speak. 
How its mummied secrets would crumbling break. 
And tell of the thousand steps that passed 
(In a day near by, in a far-oif day. 
Which may never return, or may be the last). 

And whisper of farewells again, 
That divided true hearts and severed true hands, 
When over the South and its sweet summer-lands 

Hung the fiery Cross of Pain. 



PINE BLUFFS. 151 

On tlie grim, gory mount of war it gleamed, 

And woman, the weeper, was mourning there, 
One farewell cleaving brave hearts and brave hands, 
And fate seemed bound in the bands of prayer, — 
But only seemed ; and the same waves tell. 
By the old wharf brown, whatever befell. 
When their barks drew near, and others sailed out, 

Far off in the far-away ! 
Eyes there are, yet gazing through time's dim gray, 
That is flecked with the gold of that dawning day. 

Tour times and three, at the old wharf brown, 

With a cloven heart have I said good by. 
And my secret left, and dreamed it the last, 

W^hile the slow, sad waves passed on with a sigh. 
But once they bore off a form enshrined 
In death's dim dusk; and once they chimed 

To a marriage-bell, on a blue June day; 

That, too, passed out in the far-away. 
And I sometimes fear that a welcome more 
Will never come back from the brown old shore, 
Though an army with banners of joy stood there, 
Where the phantoms of hundred farewells are. 

Lilian Rozell 2lessenger. 



152 POEMS OF PLACES. 



Plains, The. 

THE PLAINS. 

I LOOK aloug the valley's edge. 
Where swings the white road like a swell 
Of surf, aloug a sea of sedge 
Aud black and brittle chaparral, 
Aud enters like an iron wedge 
Drove in the mountain dun and brown. 
As if to split the hills in twain. 
Two clouds of dust roll o'er the plain, 
And men ride up and men ride down 
And hot men halt, and curse and shout, 
And coming coursers plunge and neigh. 
The clouds of dust are rolled in one, — 
And horses, horsemen, where are they ? 
Lo ! through a rift of cloud and dun. 
Of desolation and of rout, 
I see some long white daggers flash, 
I hear the sharp hot pistols crash, 
And curses loud in mad despair 
Are blended with a plaintive prayer 
That struggles through the dust and air. 

The cloud is lifting like a veil: 
The frantic curse, the plaintive wail 
Have died away; nor sound nor word 
Along the dusty plain is heard 
Save sounding of yon courser's feet, 



PLAINS, THE. 153 

< 

Wlio flics so fearfully and fleet, j 

With gory girth and })rokeu rein, j 

Across the hot and trackless plain. | 

Behold him, as he trembhng flies. 

Look back with red and bnrsting eyes \ 

To where his gory master lies. 

The cloud is lifting like a veil, ] 

But underneath its drifting sail 

I see a loose and black capote 

In careless heed far fly and float ; 

So vulture-like above a steed 

Of perfect mould and passing speed. 

Here lies a man of giant mould, , 

His mighty right arm, perfect bare 

Save but its sable coat of hair, .; 

Is clutching in its iron clasp | 

A clump of sage, as if to hold 

The earth from slipping from his grasp ; i 

Wliile, stealing from his brow, a stain ; 

Of purple blood and gory brain 
Yields to the parched lips of the plain. 
Swift to resolve to dust again. ' 

Lo ! friend and foe blend here and there ] 

With dusty lips and trailing hair : I 

Some with a cold and sullen stare. 
Some with their red hands clasped in prayer. 

Here lies a youth, whose fair face is _ '■ 

Still holy from a mother's kiss. 
With brow as white as alabaster, i 



154 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Save a tell-tale powder-stain 
Of a deed and a disaster 
That will never come again, 
Witli their perils and their pain. 

The tinkle of bells on the bended hills. 
The hum of bees in the orange trees. 
And the lowly call of the beaded rills 
Are heard in the land as I look again 
Over the peaceful battle-plain. 
Murderous man from the field has fled, 
ried in fear from the face of his dead. 
He battled, he bled, he ruled a day, — 
And peaceful Nature resumes her sway. 
And the sward where yonder corses lie, 
When the verdant season shall come again. 
Shall greener grow than it grew before ; 
Shall again in sun-cHme glory vie 
With the gayest green in the tropic scene. 
Taking its freshness back once more 
Trom them that despoiled it yesterday, 

Joaquin Miller, 



THE MIRAGE. 

UPON a parched and arid waste. 
Beneath the scorching summer sun, 
Where nimble swifts each other chased 
O'er gaping fissures, checked to run 
Their countless million meshy hues 



PLAINS, THE. 155 

lu tangents, angles, arcs and sines, — 
A field where Science, urged by Art, 
With Nature for a counterpart, 
Might with her pencil sketch and pore 
O'er varied shapes forevermore, — 
The weary travellers struggled on 
Across that stretching sea of sand, 
A famishing and tliirsty band. 
A land of streamlets to have won 
Had been to them a paradise : 
"When, lo ! ahead there seemed to rise, 
Along the distant horizon, 
A scene of sylvan loveliness. 
To greet them in their sore distress ; 
A scene where winding rivulets, 
All fringed w^ith branching, shady trees. 
Coursed smootlily o'er their sandy beds. 
And glimmered far, like silvery threads ; 
Where fountains, with a thousand jets. 
Flung out their crystal tapestries, 
To form in many a glassy pool 
In shady nooks, serene and cool. 

And then a change, and lo ! a lake. 
All dotted o'er with verdant isles. 
Before the vision peaceful smiles; 
And not a ripple seems to break 
The mirrored surface of its deep. 
While sombre shadows o'er it creep. 
Like spiritual argosies 
Borne by an imperceptive breeze. 



156 POEMS or PLACES. 

Upon the isles, that gently swell 

Up from the water's curving line, 

Gleams many an airy citadel. 

Where princes might in splendor dwell. 

Or poets woo the mystic Nine. 

Tall trees and clamps of shrubbery. 

Supporting many a clingnig vine 

That hangs in rich festoonery, 

Thus forming bowers where might recline 

The Beauties of Mythology, 

In keeping with their high degree. 

Tresh as the breath of early Spring, 
Seductive as the siren's song, 
The panorama moves along. 
The wand of magic seems to fling 
Its mystic beauties o'er the scene. 
Oh, why must space still intervene? 

Deceptive picture ! pure and chaste 
Damascus of the western waste ! 
Where — ah ! it fades ! it melts away ! 
Tar o'er the desert, grim and gray, 
, Along the hazy horizon, 

Tall mammoth shapes stalk stately on 

Across the visionary range 

And disappear; and then, more strange, 

A band of mounted harlequins 

In madcap antics scour the plain. 

You look to see them once again, 

But no ! they 're gone. No object wins 



PLAINS, THE. 157 

The searcliiug eye ; all 's blank and bare : 
No hint of beauty lingers where 
The Mirage spread her canopy 
And moved the soul to ecstasy. 

John Brayshaio Karje. 



THE LITTLE LONE GRAVE ON THE PLAINS. 

TWO days liad the train been waiting, 
Laid olF from the forward tramp, 
When the sick child drooped 
And died, and they scooped 
Out a little grave near camp. 

Then clad in its scanty garments, 
And wrapped in a threadbare shawl. 

They laid it away 

Troni the light of day. 
Amid tears and sobs from aU. 

Then silently covered it over, 
And heaped up the sandy ground, 

And gathered a pile 

Of small stones meanwhile, 
And placed o'er the little mound. 

God pity the poor young mother, 
!For her heart is wrung fuH sore, 

And the fresh tears start 

As she turns to part 
From the grave forevermorc. 



158 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Bereft of lier heart's young idol. 
And robbed of a mother's joy. 

How could she but grieve 

Forever to leave 
The grave of her darhng boy? 

Oh, it was bleak and so lonely ! 

Oh, it was so sad and so drear! 
Must her loved one sleep 
There, where none could keep 

A friendly vigil near ? 

Outside of civilization, 

Tar from the abodes of men. 

Where the cactus blows 

And the wild sage grows. 
In the haunts of the wild sage-hen. 

No tree in range of the vision. 
No beautiful flowers bloom. 

But a waste of sand, 

In a desert land. 
Surrounds the little tomb. 

No birds are there to warble. 
No sounds on the breezes float. 

Save the vulture's "caw," 

Pull of dismal awe. 
And the howl of the gray coyote. 

John Brayshaw Kaye, 



POINT LOBOS. 159 



THE PLAINS. 

ROOM ! Koom to turn round in, to breatlie and be 
free, 
And to grow to be giant, to sail as at sea 
With the speed of the wind on a steed with his mane 
To the wind, without pathway or route or a rein. 
Room ! Room to be free where the white-bordered sea 
Blows a kiss to a brother as boundless as he ; 
And to east and to west, to the north and the sun, 
Blue skies and brown grasses are welded as one, 
And the buffalo come like a cloud on the plain. 
Pouring on Hke the tide of a storm-driven main, 
And the lodge of the hunter to friend or to foe 
Offers rest ; and unquestioned you come or you go. 
My plains of America ! Seas of wild lands ! 
From a land in the seas in a raiment of foam. 
That has reached to a stranger the welcome of home, 
I turn to you, lean to you, lift you my hands. 

Joaquin Miller. 



Point Lohos, CciL 

AT POINT LOBOS. ' 

CLEAR noon without obscurity. 
No flake of cloud 'twixt heaven and me 
No mist athwart the Golden Gate : 
The hearty sun doth wilfully 

His profuse beams precipitate. 



160 POEMS OF PLACES. 

I cliug to humped rocks that kneel 
On unswept sands, where breakers reel 

In splendid curves, and pile their foam 
In spongy hills, that slow congeal. 

And dulse and drift-wood find a home. 

We clasp the silver crescent set 
Within the hazy parapet 

That belts the horizon : in glee 
I count the fitful puffs that fret 

The eternal levels of the sea. 

I watch the waves that seem to breathe 
And pant unceasingly beneath 

Their silken coverings, that cringe. 
As flecked with swirls of froth, they seethe, 

And whip, and flutter to a fringe. 

Brown pipers run upon the sand 
Like shadows ; far out from the land 

Gray gulls slide up against the blue ; 
One shining spar is sudden manned 

By squadrons of their wrecking crew. 

My city is beyond the hill; 
I cannot hear its voices shrill: 

I little heed its gains and greeds: 
Here is my song, where waters spill 

Their liquid strophes in the reeds. 

And to this music I forswear 
Whatever soils the world with care: 
I see the Hstless waters toss, — 



POINT LOBOS. 161 

I track tlie swift lark through the air, — 
I lie with suulight on the moss. 

Wliite caravans of cloud go by 
Across the desert of bright sky. 

And burly winds are following 
The trailing pilgrims, as they fly 

Over the grassy hills of spring. 

What Mecca are they hastening to? 
What princess journeying to woo 

In the rich Orient? I am thrilled 
With spice and odor they imbue, — 

I feed upon their manna spilled ! 

I strip my breast with eager mind. 
To tarry and invite the wind 

To my embrace : by curious spell 
It quickens me with praises kind, — 

'T is Ariel that blows his shell ! 

Invisible, and soft as dews 
Descending, he his love renews, 

Delighting daisy colonies 
That gloss them with the lustrous ooze 

Of meadows steeped in ecstasies. 

Until the homely, sunburnt Heads, 
The tumbling hills, ni browns and reds. 

And gray sand-hillocks, everywhere 
Are buried in the mist that sheds 

Its subtle snow upon the air. 



162 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And Prospero, aroused from sleep. 
Recalls liis spirits from the deep, — 

They cross the wave with stealthy tread. 
Their shadows down upon me sweep, — 

And day is past, and joy is fled. 

I hear the dismal bells that shout 
Their warning to the ships without : 

The dripping sails are reefed and furled, 
The pilots sound and grope about, — 

The Gate is barred against the world! 

Charles Warreyi Stoddard. 



Prairies, The, 

THE PRAIEIES. 

THESE are the Gardens of the Desert, these 
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, 
Eor which the speech of England has no name, — 
The Prairies. I behold them for the first, 
And my heart swells, while the dilated sight 
Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo ! they stretch 
In airy undulations, far away, 
As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell. 
Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed. 
And motionless forever. — Motionless ? 
No, — they are all unchained again. The clouds 
Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath. 



PRAIRIES, THE. l63 1 

The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye ; i 

Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase ; 

The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South ! 

That toss the golden and the flame-Uke flo\^ers, 

And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high. 

Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not, — ye have played 

Among the palms of Mexico and vines 

Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks 

That from the fountains of Sonora glide 

Into the calm Pacific, — have ye fanned | 

A nobler or a lovelier scene than this? | 

Man hath no part in all this glorious work: i 

The hand that built the firmament hath heaved \ 

And smoothed these verdant swells, and so^vn their 

slopes ; 

With herbage, planted them with island groves. 

And hedged them round with forests. Tittiug floor 1 

Tor this magnificent temple of the sky, 

With flowers whose glory and whose multitude j 

Rival the constellations ! The great heavens I 

Seem to stoop dovrn upon the scene in love, — 
A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue. 
Than that which bends above the eastern hills. 

As o'er the verdant waste I guide my steed, i 

Among the high rank grass that sweeps his sides, 1 

The hollow beating of his footstep seems 

A sacrilegious sound. I think of those , 

Upon whose rest he tramples. Are they here, — ' 

The dead of other days ? — and did the dust ' 

Of these fair solitudes once stir with life 
And burn with passion? Let the mighty mounds ; 



164 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Tliat overlook the riTers, or tliat rise 

In the dim forest crowded with old oaks, 

Answer. A race, that long has passed away, 

Built them ; a disciplined and populous race 

Heaped, with long toil, the earth, while yet the Greek 

Was hewing the Pentelicus to forms 

Of symmetry, and rearing on its rock 

The glittering Parthenon, These ample fields 

Nourished their harvests, here their herds were fed, 

When haply by their stalls the bison lowed, 

And bowed his maned shoulder to the yoke. 

All day this desert murmured with their toils. 

Till twilight blushed, and lovers walked, and wooed 

In a forgotten language, and old tunes, 

From instruments of unremembered form, 

Gave the soft winds a voice. The red man came, — 

The roaming hunter tribes, warlike and fierce, 

And the mound-builders vanished from the earth. 

The solitude of centuries untold 

Has settled where they dwelt. The prairie wolf 

Hunts in their meadows, and his fresh-dug den 

Yawns by my path. The gopher mines the ground 

Where stood their swarming cities. All is gone, — 

All, save the piles of earth that hold their bones, 

The platforms where they worshipped unknown gods, 

The barriers which they builded from the soil 

To keep tlie foe at bay, till o'er the walls 

The wild beleaguerers broke, and, one by one, 

The strongholds of the plain were forced, and heaped 

With corpses. The brown vultures of the wood 

Flocked to those vast uncovered sepulchres, 



PRAIRIES, THE. 165 

And sat, unscarcd and silejit, at tlieir feast. 
Ha})ly some solitary fugitive. 
Lurking in marsh and forest, till the sense 
Of desolation and of fear became 
Bitterer than death, yielded himself to die. 
Man's better nature triumphed. Kindly words 
Welcomed and soothed him ; the rude conquerors 
Seated the captive "with their chiefs ; he chose 
A bride among their maidens, and at length 
Seemed to forget — yet ne'er forgot — the wife 
Of his first love, and her sweet little ones 
Butchered, amid their shrieks, with all his race. 

Thus change the forms of being. Thus arise 
Baces of living things, glorious in strength, 
And perish, as the quickening breath of God 
Fills them, or is withdrawn. The red man, too. 
Has left the blooming wilds he ranged so long, 
And, nearer to the Rocky Mountains, sought 
A wider hunting-ground. The beaver builds 
No longer by these streams, but far away, 
On waters whose blue surface ne'er gave back 
Tlie white man's face, — among Missouri's springs, 
And pools whose issues swell the Oregon, 
He rears his little Venice. In these plains 
The bison feeds no more. Twice twenty leagues 
Beyond remotest smoke of hunter's camp 
Boams tlie majestic brute, in herds that shake 
The earth with thundering steps, — yet here I meet 
His ancient footprints stamped beside the pool. 

Still this great solitude is quick with life. 
Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers 



166 POEMS OF PLACES. 

They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds, 

And birds, that scarce have learned the fear of man, 

Are here, and shding reptiles of the ground, 

Startlingly beautiful. The graceful deer 

Bounds to the wood at my approach. The bee, 

A more adventurous colonist than man. 

With whom he came across the eastern deep, 

Fills the savannas with his murmurings. 

And hides his sweets, as in the golden age, 

Within the hollow oak. I listen long 

To his domestic hum, and think I hear 

The sound of that advancing multitude 

Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the ground 

Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice 

Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn 

Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of herds 

Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain 

Over the dark-brown furrows. All at once 

A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my dream. 

And I am in the wilderness alone. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES. 

AY, this is freedom ! — these pure skies 
Were never stained with village smoke; 
The fragrant wind, that through them flies. 

Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke. 
Here, with my rifle and my steed, j 

And her who left the world for me. 



PRAIRIES, THE. 167 

I plant me, w'hcre tlie red deer feed 
lu the green desert, — and am free. 

For licre the fair savannas know 

No barriers in the bloomy grass; 
Wherever breeze of heaven may blow, 

Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass. 
In pastures, measureless as air. 

The bison is my noble game; 
The bounding elk, whose antlers tear 

The branches, falls before my aim. 

Mine are the river-fowl that scream 

From the long stripe of waving sedge; 
The bear, that marks my weapon's gleam. 

Hides vainly in the forest's edge; 
In vain the she-wolf stands at bay; 

The brinded catamount, that hes 
High in the bouglis to watch his prey, 

Even in the act of springing, dies. 

With what free growth the elm and plane 

Fling their huge arms across my way. 
Gray, old, and cumbered with a train 

Of vines, as huge and old and gray! 
Free stray the lucid streams, and find 

No taint in tliese fresh lawns and sbades ; 
Free spring the flowers that scent the wind 

Where never scythe has swept the glades. 

Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere 
The heavy herbage of the ground. 



]68 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Gathers his annual harvest here, 
With roaring hke the battle's sound. 

And hurrying flames that sweep the plain. 
And smoke-streams gushing up the sky : 

I meet the flames with flames again. 
And at my door they cower and die. 

Here, from dim woods, the aged past 

Speaks solemnly ; and I behold 
The boundless future in the vast 

And lonely river, seaward rolled. 
Who feeds its founts with rain and dew ? 

Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass, 
And trains the bordering vines, whose blue 

Bright clusters tempt me as I pass ? 

Broad are these streams, — my steed obeys. 

Plunges, and bears me through the tide. 
Wide are these woods, — I thread the maze 

Of giant stems, nor ask a guide. 
I hunt, till day's last glimmer dies 

O'er woody vale and grassy height; 
And kind the voice and glad the eyes. 

That welcome my return at night. 

WUliam Calleti Bryant. 

THE PRAIRIE. 

THE skies are blue above my head, 
The prairie green below. 
And flickering o'er the tufted grass 
The shifting shadows go, 



PRAIRIES, THE. 169 

Vague-sailing, "where the feathery clouds 

rieck white the tranquil skies. 
Black javelins darting where aloft 

The M-hirring pheasant flies. 

A glimmering plain in drowsy trance 

The dim liorizon bounds, 
Where all the air is resonant 

With sleepy summer sounds, — 
The life that sings among the flowers, 

The lisping of the breeze. 
The hot cicala's sultry cry, 

The murmurous dream of bees. 

The butterfly — a flying flower — 

Wheels swift in flashing rings, 
And flutters round his quiet kin, 

With brave flame-mottled wings. 
The wild pinks burst in crimson fire. 

The phlox' bright clusters shine, 
And prairie-cups are swinging free 

To spill their airy wine. 

And lavishly beneath the sun, 

In liberal splendor rolled. 
The fennel fills the dipping plain 

With floods of flowery gold; 
And widely weaves the iron-weed 

A woof of purple dyes 
"V\licre Autumn's royal feet may tread 

When bankrupt Sunnner flies. 



170 POEMS OF PLACES. 

lu verdurous tumult far away 

The prairie-billows gleam, 
Upou their crests in blessing rests 

The noontide's gracious beam. 
Low quivering vapors steaming dim 

The level splendors break 
Where languid hlies deck the rim 

Of some land-circled lake. 

Far in the east like low-hung clouds 

The waving woodlands lie ; 
Far in the west the glowing plain 

Melts warmly in the sky. 
No accent wounds the reverent air. 

No footprint dints the sod, — 
Lone in the light the prairie Kes, 

Wrapt in a dream of God. 



John 



THE PRAIRIE. 

BEYOND, the prairie's sea-Hke sweUs surpass 
The Tartar's marvels of his Land of Grass, 
Vast as the sky against whose sunset shores 
Wave after wave the billowy greenness pours; 
And, onward still, like islands in that main 
Loom the rough peaks of many a mountain chain. 
Whence east and west a thousand waters run 
Trom winter lingering under summer's sun. 
And, still beyond, long lines of foam and sand 
Tell where Pacific rolls his waves aland. 



PRAIRIES, THE. 171 

From many a wide-lapped port and land-locked bay. 
Opening with thunderous pomp the world's highway 
To Indian isles of spice, and marts of far Cathay. 
* * * . 

John Greenleaf Whit tier. 



LOST ON THE PRAIRIE. 

OH, my baby, my child, my darling ! 
Lost and gone in the prairie wild; 
Mad gray wolves from the forest snarling, 
Snarling for thee, my little child ! 

Lost, lost ! gone forever ! 

Gay snakes rattled and charmed and sung 
On thy head the sun's fierce fever, 

Dews of death on thy white lip hung ! 

Dead and pale in the moonlight's glory. 
Cold and dead by the black oak-tree; 

Only a small shoe, stained and gory, 

Blood-red, tattered, — comes home to me. 

Over the grass that rolls, like ocean, 
On and on to the blue, bent sky, 

Something comes with a hurried motion. 
Something calls with a choking cry, — 

*'Here, here! not dead, but living!" 
God! Thy goodness — what can I pray? 

Blessed more in this second giving, 
Laid in happier arms to-day. 



172 roEMS OF PLACES. 

Oh, my baby, my cliild, my darling ! 

Wolf and snake and tlie lonely tree 
Still are rustling, hissing, snarling ; 

Here 's my baby come back to me ! 



Rose Terry Cooke, H 

THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 

THE shades of evening closed around 
The boundless prairies of the west, 
As, grouped in sadness on the ground, 

A band of pilgrims leaned to rest : 
Upon the tangled weeds were laid 

The mother and her youngest born. 
Who slept, while others watched and prayed, 
And thus the weary night went on. 

Thick darkness shrouded earth and sky, — 

When on the whispering winds there came 
The Teton's shrill and thrilling cry, 

And heaven was pierced with shafts of flame ! 
The sun seemed rising through the haze, i 

But with an aspect dread and dire : i 

The very air appeared to blaze ! — jr 

O God ! the Prairie was on fire ! * 

I 
Around the centre of the plain 

A belt of flame retreat denied, — 
And, like a furnace, glowed the train 

That walled them in on every side : 
And onward rolled the torrent wild, — 

Wreaths of dense smoke obscui'cd the sky! 



PRAIUIES, THE. 173 

The motlier knelt beside her child, 

Aiid all, — save oue, — shrieked out, "TVe die!" 

" Not so ! " he cried. — " Help ! — Clear the sedge ! 

Strip bare a circle to the land ! " 
That done, he hastened to its edge, 

And grasped a rifle in his hand : 
Dried weeds he held beside the pan. 

Which kindled at a flash the mass ! 
*' Now fire fight fire ! " he said, as ran 

The forked flames among the grass. 

On three sides then the torrent flew, 

But on the fourth no more it raved ! 
Then large and broad the circle grew. 

And thus the pilgrim band was saved ! 
The flames receded far and wide, — 

The mother had not prayed in vain : 
God had the Teton's arts defied ! 

His scythe of fire had swept the plain! 

George P. 3Iorris. 



THE PRAIRIE. 

WE stand, my hoi-se and I, 
On the pi-airie's high divide, 
With nothing betwixt us and the sky, 
And naught the land to hide. 

And, oh ! it is fair to see 
The acres and acres that roll 



174 



POEMS OF PLACES. 



Like the waves of a stifFeued sea, 
Witli ours to crown the whole. 

And far away a plain, 

Through which a river glides ; 
Yet never a single field of grain 

The fertile soil provides. 



right 



Long has it been the 

Of bison and of deer; 
The home of the red man m his might. 

Who scorns to have a peer. 

But now is the scene all still 

As a graveyard's hallowed ground; 

Nor sign of hfe save of us on the hill. 
Nor any other sound. 

George P. Guerrier. 



A PRAIRIE-DOG VILLAGE. 

ONE night a band of Indians attacked us, 
Crossing the Rocky Mountains once by stage. 
And left us horseless in a waste of cactus 

And parched wild sage, — 
A desert region, — dreary desolation. 

Where never flower bloomed or gi-ass grew green, 
As if accursed of God from the creation 
The land had been. 

Yet here, remote from man, unused to tillage. 
Afar from human joy and human strife. 




The ILttle prairie dDg here builds his burrow." ■ See page 175. 



PRAIRIES, THE. 175 I 

We walked the roadsides of a thrifty village 

Of busy life. 
And saw the people resting from their labors ; 

Snug houses theirs, well filled with winter stores, 
And matrons, chattering gossip with their neighbors. 

Stood at the doors. 

"The little prairie-dog here builds his burrow,'* 

Our driver said, "and here the rattlesnake < 

And solemn owl, helpmates in joy and sorrow, i 

Their dwelling make, ^ 

And in these burrows, snug in every weather. 
Secure each one in all his rights, the three, 
A happy family, consort together 
In unity. 

"The snake, strong-armed and fierce, keeps out the i 

stranger ; I 

The owl, Minerva's bird, sage counsel gives; | 

And so the prairie-dog in haunts of danger j 

In safety lives ; i 

And all unfettered by your laws of iron. 

Each lending cheerful help, their homes they build ; 

Together thus lie down the lamb and Hon, , 

God's word fulfilled." | 

* * * 

Edward B. Nealleij. 



X76 POEMS OF PLACES. 



A PRAIEIE KIDE. 

ACROSS the prairie, to\rard the west, 
We rode at day's declining: 
What radiant pictures we beheld. 
In heavenly ether shining! 

How blends the purple, rosy light. 

And melts into the golden, 
Across the azure, crimson bars. 

Like some escutcheon olden. 

The prairie seems a grassy lake 

Where countless islets cluster; 
Green sumac clumps, that wear not yet 

The autumn's scarlet lustre. 
* * * 

The varied tints of budding leaves. 

The long, cool shadows lying 
Across the grass, weird shapes of clouds 

Before the breezes flying; 

The plaintive call of wliippoorwill, 

The mourning dove's complaining, - ;' 

The doleful tale the katydid i\ 

Repeats, no answer gaining ; ^ 

' V: 



Eacb sight, each sound our souls possess 

With sense of summer's being ; 
And Nature wears her choicest dress \ 

For those with eyes for seeing ! 



1 



PEAIRIES, THE. 177 

The splendor fades, tlie amber pales 

To neutral tint uncertain, 
And swiftly, fold on fold, descends 

The evening's sombre curtain. 

But still our good steeds gallop on 

O'er phloxes and verbenas; 
The quiet holds us like a charm, 

No word is said between us. 

Sweet stars above, sweet flowers beneath, 

Shme in the twilight faintly, 
While rising in the dusky east 

The moon glows white and saintly. 

We turn our horses' heads for liome. 

Beneath the wind's cool kisses: 
Will life or earth e'er yield again 
A joy as pure as this is ? 

* * * 

Margaret Steicart Sibleif, 



A PRAIRIE NEST. 

WHEN youth was in its May-day prime, 
Ijife's blossoming and singing time, 
While heart and hope made cheerful chime, 
We dropped into our cottage-nest 
Upon a prairie's miglity breast, 
Soft billowing towards the unknown West. 

Green earth beneath, blue sky above ! 
Through verdure vast the hidden dove 
Sent plaintively her moan of love. 



178 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Soutli wind and sunsliiue filled the air; 
Thought ilew in widening curves, to share 
The large, sweet calmness everywhere. 

In space two confluent rivers made, — 
Kaskaskia, that far southward strayed. 
And Mississippi, sunk in shade 
Of level twiUghts, — nestled we. 
As in the cleft branch of a tree ; 
Green grass, blue sky, all we could see. 

Torch-like, our garden-plot illumed 
The sea-hke waste, when sunset gloomed ; 
Its homely scents the night perfumed; 
And through the long bright noontide hours 
Its tints outblazed tlie prairie-flowers : 
Gay, gay and glad, that nest of ours ! 

Our marigolds, our poppies red. 
Straggling away from their trim bed. 
With phlox and larkspur rioted; 
And we, fresh-hearted, every day 
round fantasies wherewith to play, 
As daring and as free as they. 

The drumming grouse; the whistling quail; 

Wild horses prancing down the gale ; 

A lonely tree that seemed a sail 

Ear out at sea; a cabin-spark 

Winking at us across the dark : 

The wolf's cry, like a watch-dog's bark; 

And sometimes sudden jet and spire 
Belting the horizon in with fire. 



PRAIRIES, THE. 179 

That writhed and died iu scrpciit-gyre, — 
"Without a care we saw, we heard: 
To dread or pleasure lightly stirred 
As, iu mid-ilight, the homeward bird. 

The stars hung low above our roof; 
Rainbow and cloud-film wrought a woof 
Of glory round us, danger-proof; 
It sometimes seemed as if our cot 
Were the one safe, selected spot 
Whereon Heaven centred steadiest thought. 



•^O' 



Man was afar, but God close by; 
And we might fold our wings, or fly, 
Beneath the sun, His open eye : 
With bird and breeze in brotherhood, 
We simply felt and understood 
That earth was fair, that He was good. 

Nature, so full of secrets coy. 
Wrote out the mystery of her joy 
On those broad swells of Illinois ; 
Her virgin heart to Heaven w^as true. 
We trusted Heaven and her, and knew 
The grass was green, the skies were blue. 

And life was sweet ! Wliat find we more 
In wearying quest from shore to shore ? 
Ah, gracious memory ! to restore 
Our golden West, its sun, its showers, 
And that gay little nest of ours 
Dropped down among the prairie-flowers ! 

Lxicy Larcom. 



180 POEMS OP PLACES. 



Bochy Mountains, The. 

ON RECROSSING THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS IN WINTER, 
AFTER MANY YEARS. 

LONG years ago I -wandered here. 
In tlie midsummer of the year, — 
Life's summer too ; 
A score of horsemen here "we rode, 
The mountain world its glories showed. 
All fair to view. 

These scenes in glowing colors drest. 
Mirrored the life within my breast, 

Its world of hopes ; 
The whispering woods and fragrant breeze 
That stirred the grass in verdant seas 

On billowy slopes, 

And glistening crag in sunlit sky, 

Mid snowy clouds piled mountains high, 

Were joys to me ; 
My path was o'er the prairie wide. 
Or here on grander mountain-side. 

To choose, all free. 

The rose that waved in morning air. 
And spread its de\A'y fragrance there 

In careless bloom, 
Gave to my heart its ruddiest hue. 
O'er my glad life its color threw 

And sweet perfume. 



ROCKY MOUNTAINS, TIIB^ 181 

No"W changed the scene and changed the eyes, 
That here once looked on glowing skies, 

Where summer smiled ; 
These riven trees, this wind-swept plain. 
Now show the winter's dread domain, 

Its fury Avild. 

The rocks rise black from storm-packed snow, 
All checked the river's pleasant flow, 

Vanished the bloom; 
These dreary wastes of frozen plain 
Keflect my bosom's life again. 

Now lonesome gloom. 

The buoyant hopes and busy life 
Have ended all in hatefvd strife, 

And thwarted aim. 
The world's rude contact killed the rose. 
No more its radiant color shows 

False roads to fame. 

Backward, amidst the twilight glow 
Some lingering spots yet brightly show 

On hard roads won, 
"Where still some grand peaks mark the way 
Touched by the light of parting day 
And memory's sun. 

But here thick clouds the mountains hide. 
The dim horizon bleak and wide 

No pathway shows, 
And rising gusts, and darkening sky. 
Tell of the niglit that comcth, nigh, 

The brief day's close. 

Anonymous. 



ISf- POEMS or PLACES. 



LINES WEITTEX ON THE EOCKY MOUNTAINS. 

THE deep, transparent sky is full 
Of many thousand glittering lights, — 
Unnumbered stars that calmly rule 
The dark dominions of the night. 
The mild, bright moon has upward risen, 

Out of the gray and boundless plain. 
And all around the white snows glisten. 
Where frost and ice and silence reign, — 
While ages roll away, and they unchanged remain. 

These mountains, piercing the blue sky 

With their eternal cones of ice; 
The torrents dashing from on high. 

O'er rock and crag and precipice; 
Change not, but still remain as ever, 

Unwasting, deatldess, and sublime. 
And will remain while lightnings quiver. 

Or stars the hoary summits climb. 
Or rolls the thunder-chariot of eternal Time. 

It is not so with all, — I change, 

And waste as with a living death. 
Like one that hath become a strange. 

Unwelcome guest, and lingereth 
Among the memories of the past. 

Where he is a forgotten name; 
For Time hath greater power to blast 

The hopes, the feelings, and the fame. 
To make the passions fierce, or their first strength to 
tame. 




' These mountains piercing the blue sky." See page 182. 



ROCKY MOUNTAINS, THE. 183 

Tlie wind comes rushing swift by me. 

Pouring its coolness on my brow; 
Sucli was I once, — as proudly free. 

And yet, alas ! how altered now ! 
Yet, while I gaze upon yon plain, 

These mountains, this eternal sky, 
The scenes of boyhood come again, 

And pass before the vacant eye, 
Still wearing something of their ancient brilliancy. 

Yet why complain ? — for what is wrong. 

False friends, cold-heartedness, deceit. 
And life already made too long, 

To one who walks with bleeding feet 
Over its paths ? — it will but make 

Death sweeter when it comes at last, — 
And though tlic trampled heart may ache, 

Its agony of pain is past, 
And calmness gathers there, while life is ebbing fast. 

Perhaps, when I have passed away, 

Like the sad echo of a dream. 
There may be some one found to say 

A word that might like sorrow seem. 
That I would have, — one saddened tear. 

One kindly and regretting thought, — 
Grant me but that ! — and even here. 

Here, in this lone, unpeopled spot, 
To breathe away this life of pain, I murmur not. 

Albert Pike, 



184 POEMS OF PLACES, 



Sacramento, the Biver, Cal. 

RIO SACRAMENTO. 

SACRAMENTO! Sacramento, j 

Down the rougli Nevada foaming, j 

Eain my heart would join thy water ] 

In its glad, impetuous roaming, \ 
Tor thy valley's fairest daughter 
Watches oft to see thee coming! 

Sacramento ! Sacramento ! 

Prom the shining threads that wove thee, — 
Prom the mountain woods that darken i 

All the mountain heaven above thee. 
Teach her ea^- thy song to hearken, 

And, for what it says, to love thee! 

Sacramento! Sacramento! ' 

Lead me downward to the glory 

Of thy green and flowery meadows ; \ 

I will leave the deserts hoary, 

Por thy grove of quiet shadows - 

And my love's impassioned story. ;' 

I 

Sacramento ! Sacramento ! j 

Every dancing rainbow broken J 

When thv falling waves are shattered, j 



Is a glad and beckoning token 



ST. GEORGE AND ST. PAUL, THE ISLANDS. 185 

Of the hopes so '\vuriiily scattered 
And the vows that we have spoken! 

Sacramento ! Sacramento ! 

She, beside thee, waits my coming; 
Teach my step thy bounding fleetness. 

Towards the bower of beauty roaming. 
Where she standg, in maiden sweetness, 

Gazing idly on thy foaming ! 

Bayard Taylor. 



SL Geoi^ge and St Paul, the Islands, 
Alaska, 

CHEISTMAS CHIMES IN DISTANT ISLES. 

A CHIME of nine bells, and another of six, cast in Boston, have been 
hung in the belfries of the little Greek churches on the isles of St. Paul 
and St. George, situated in the Behring Sea, not far from the straits, olf 
Alaska. 

BTIOAD paddles uplifting, the spray from the Behring 
Baptized all the bells under lee of the isle ; 
Their Boston inscription glad Russians were spelling. 
As the vessel that bore them dipped colors the while. 

The Arctic sun setting, for happy leave-taking. 
With red hand anointed each slumbering tongue. 

Till, sweeter than song-birds at early morn waking, 
The first chime of bells in that distant clime runor.' 



186 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And lo ! the sea-eagle, broad piuious just poising, 
Erom Mount St. Elias far inland to sweep, 

Drooped wings in amaze, and his proud neck upraising, 
With wonder-lit eyeballs gazed far o'er the deep. 

O'er Yukan's calm waters their light haider guiding, 
Koloschians heard chime from Isle of St. Paul ; 

And each to next rower, in deep awe confiding, 
Low whispered : " I hear the great Spirit's footfall ! " 

Their oars drip apeak, and they wait for strange vision ; 

Aurora her magical banners unrolls; 
As statue sits helmsman, while borne from far mission. 

The silvery music enraptures all souls ! 

And leader of dog-sledge, his furry eai-s raising. 
As flies the long yourt over deep-crusted snow. 

Hears echoed carillon the Son of God praising, 
And pauses, unmindful of whip's cruel blow ! 

His hood of rich sable the voyageur loosens; 

Like sword-hilt that slippeth from paralyzed hand. 
The lash leaves his grasp, while he eagerly listens. 

His keen glances roving o'er sea and o'er land. 

E'en St. Michael's sentry, the melody hearing, 
Eeels tears from his eyelids Uke summer rain fall; 

The scenes of his childhood forever endearing, 
Those echoes delicious that moment recall ! 

A New England homestead before him is dawning; 
He sees the red cottage in flowery dell; 



ST. LOUIS. 187 

The group at the doorway one still summer morning, 
And dear mother waving her sailor farewell ! 

His pent-up emotion no longer restraining. 

The musket clangs earthward, and cheer upon cheer 

The garrison startles; all rush to the paling, 
And soft, dying echoes now charm every ear ! 

With white wine and biscuit the fishermen hardy 
A feast held, to honor the bells of each isle; 

" To salvation's Rossignol never be tardy," 

Said priest, draining goblet with rapturous smile. 

Uing on, thou sweet Angelus! the old story telling I 
For precious souls herald a glad second birth; 

Salvation's hand holding, so patient and wiUing, 
The chain whose bright Imks shall encircle the earth ! 

George Bancroft Griffith. 



SL Loins, Mo, 

UP THE EIYER-SIDE. 

A SABBATH hush pervades the summer day, 
As seated here beside the shining sands, 
I gaze on once again the arid lands. 
That weed-besprinkled westward stretch away; 
The waves that wash the beach about me lay 
Smooth mirrors in their track, and vast expands 
The stream's majestic breast, to where up-stands 



183 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Pair Venice in lier groves beside her bay. 
And so serenely on the sands of gold 
I lie and listen to the beat of wave 
And boom of wind, and watch the river-gleams; 
Then seas of slumber are about me rolled, 
And as within their waters deep I lave, 
The scene before me fades and floats away in dreams. 

frank Foy. 



ST. LOUIS. 

ONCE more I give an idle song to thee. 
Fair city sitting by the waters wide. 
Eorever with thy people shall abide 
Honor and peace, in every home shall be 
A hope made stronger by adversity. 
And they, those mighty men, who at thy side 
Now lead thee doubtful onward, they shall guide 
Thy feet into the golden age to be. 
O thou that art to rule the empired west. 
Be strong, and labor, — labor for the gold 
Of after greatness! though the voice of them 
Who envy thee be loud, still, undistrest. 
Mind well the time when they shall all behold 
The light of thine imperial diadem. 

Frank Foy. 



SAN FRANCISCO. 189 

San Francisco, CaL 

HYMN 

FOR THE OPENING OF THOMAS STARR KING'S HOUSE OF 
WORSHIP, 18G4. 

AMIDST tliese glorious works of tliiue. 
The solemn miimrets of the pine, 
And awful Shasta's icy shrine, — 

Wliere swell thy hymns from wave and gale, 
And organ-thunders never fail, 
Behind the cataract's silver veil, — 

Our puny walls to thee we raise. 

Our poor rccd-music sounds thy praise : 

Eorgive, O Lord, our childish ways ! 

For, kneeling on these altar-staii-s, 
We urge thee not w^ith selfish prayers, 
Nor murmur at our daily cares. 

Before thee, in an evil day. 

Our country's bleed iug heart we lay. 

And dare not ask thy hand to stay; 

But, through the war-cloud, pray to thee 
For union, but a union free, 
With peace that comes of purity ! 

That thou wdlt bare thy arm to save, 
And, smiting through this Red Sea wave, 
Make broad a pathway for the slave ! 



190 POEMS or PLACES. 

For us, confessing all our need. 

We trust nor rite nor word nor deed. 

Nor yet the broken staff of creed. 

Assured alone that thou art good 
To each, as to the multitude. 
Eternal Love and Fatherhood, — 

Weak, sinful, blind, to thee we kneel, 
Stretch dumbly forth our hands, and feel 
Our weakness is our strong appeal. 

So, by these Western gates of Even 
We wait to see with thy forgiven 
The opening Golden Gate of Heaven! 

Suffice it now. In time to be 
Shall holier altars rise to thee, — 
Thy Church our broad humanity ! 

White flowers of love its walls shall climb, 
Soft bells of peace shall ring its chime. 
Its days shall all be holy time. 

A sweeter song shall then be heard, — 
The music of the world's accord 
Confessing Christ, the Inward Word ! 

That song shall swell from shore to shore. 
One hope, one faith, one love, restore 
The seamless robe that Jesus wore. 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



SAN FRANCISCO. 191 ' 



SAN FEANCISCO. 



SERENE, indifferent of Fate, 
Tliou sittcst at the Western Gate; 

Upon tliy heights so lately won 
Still slant the banners of the sun ; 

Thou seest the white seas strike their tents, 
Warder of two Continents ! 

And scornful of the peaee that flies 
Thy angry winds and sullen skies. 

Thou drawest all things, small or great, 
To thee, beside the Western Gate. 



lion's whelp! that hidest fast 

In jungle growth of spire and mast, 

1 know thy cunning and thy greed. 
Thy hard high lust and wilful deed. 

And all thy glory loves to tell 
Of specious gifts material. 

Drop down, O fleecy Fog ! and liide 
Her sceptic sneer, and all her pride. 

Wrap her, Fog, in gown and hood 
Of her Franciscan Brotherhood. 



192 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Hide me lier faults, her sin and blame ; 
With thy gray mantle cloak her shame 1 

So shall she, cowled, sit and pray 
Till morning bears her sins away. 

Then rise, O fleecy Tog, and raise 
The glory of her coming days ; 

Be as the cloud that flecks the seas 
Above her smoky argosies. 

When forms familiar shall give place 
To stranger speech and newer face; 

When all her throes and anxious fears 
Lie hushed in the repose of years; 

When Art shall raise and Culture lift 
The sensual joys and meaner thrift. 

And all fulfilled the vision, we 

Who watch and wait shall never see, — 

Who, in the morning of her race. 
Toiled fair or meanly in our place, — 

But, yielding to the common lot. 
Lie unrecorded and forgot. 

B)'et Earte. 



SAN FRANCISCO. 193 



LONE MOUNTAIN CEMETERY. 

THIS is tliat hill of awe 
That Persian Siiidbad saw, — 
The mouut magnetic; 
And on its seaward face. 
Scattered along its base. 
The wrecks prophetic' 

Here come the argosies 
Blown by each idle breeze, 

To and fro shifting; 
Yet to the hill of Fate 
All drawing, soon or late, — 

Day by day drifting; — 

Drifting forever here 
Barks that for many a year 

Braved wind and weather; 
Shallops but yesterday 
Launched on yon shining bay,— 

Drawn all together. 

This is the end of all: 
Sun thyself by the wall, 

O poorer Hindbad ! 
Envy not Sindbad's fame : 
Here come alike the same, 

Hindbad and Sindbad. 



Bret Earte. 



194 POEMS OF PLACES. 



THE GOLDEN GATE. 



THE air is cliill, and the day grows late, 
And the clouds come in through the Golden Gate: 
Phantom fleets they seem to me, 
Prom a shoreless and unsounded sea; 
Their shadowy spars and misty sails, 
Unshattered, have weathered a thousand gales : 
Slow wheeUng, lo ! in squadrons gray. 
They part, and hasten along the bay; 
Each to its anchorage finding way. 
Where the hills of Saucelito swell, 
Many in gloom may shelter well; 
And others — behold — unchallenged pass 
By the silent guns of Alcatras : 
No greetings of thunder and flame exchange 
The armed isle and the cruisers strange. 
Their meteor flags, so widely blown. 
Were blazoned in a land unknown ; 
So, charmed from war or wind or tide, 
Along the quiet wave they gUde. 

What bear these ships ? — what news, what freight, 

Do they bring us through the Golden Gate ? 

Sad echoes to words in gladness spoken. 

And withered hopes to the poor heart-broken: 

Oh, how many a venture we 

Have rashly sent to the shoreless sea ! 

How many an hour have you and I, 



SAN FRANCISCO. 195 

Sweet friend, in sadness seen go by, 

Wliile our eager, longing thoughts were roving 

Over the waste, for something loving, 

Something rich and chaste and kind. 

To brighten and bless a lonely mind; 

And only waited to behold 

Ambition's gems, affection's gold, 

Return as remorse, and a broken vow, 

In such ships of mist as I see now. 

The air is chill, and the day grows late, 
And the clouds come in through the Golden Gate, 
Treighted with sorrow, heavy with woe; — 
But these shapes that cluster, dark and low. 
To-morrow shall be all aglow ! 
In the blaze of the coming morn these mists. 
Whose weight my heart m vain resists. 
Will brighteu and shine, and soar to heaven. 
In thin white robes, like souls forgiven; 
For Heaven is kind, and everything. 
As well as a winter, has a spring. 
So, praise to God! who brings the day 
That shines our regrets and fears away ; 
For the blessed morn I can watch and wait, 
While the clouds come in through the Golden Gate. 

Edward Pollock. 



196 POEMS OF PLACES. 



AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 



YEARS, years of waiting, while in shapes terrific 
Have loomed the obstacles that held me back ; 
^AnA. now I see, at length, the broad Pacific 
Rolling far westward in the sunset's track ; 
And now I know how that discoverer Spanish, 

Balboa, his long toilsome journey made. 
One first glimpse caught, in fear the whole might 
vanish, 
A mirage, — dropped upon his knees and prayed. 

The Sunset Seal The noblest and the broadest 

Of all tlie oceans girdling wave-washed earth; 
The calmest, gentlest, yet at times the maddest, 

In raving paroxysms of stormy mirth. 
The Eagle's continent its eastern border; 

Its western, that on which one half mankind 
Sit under despotisms of deadly order 

And bow to superstitions old as blind. 

And yet how near together, spite of distance, 

Stand the two mighty continents, to-day ! 
How nearly, at this stage of man's existence. 

Current to current makes its powerful way ! 
Within this Golden Gate, the noblest, surely, 

Of all the entrances of all the seas. 
The Asian barks-of-hope float in securely. 

And furl their lateen sails, aiid ride at ease. 



SAN FRANCISCO. 197 

To prove that land to land is eacli a neighbor, 

Thoiigli leagues unnumbered stretch between the 
twain ; 
To compHcate the problem vexed, of labor, 

And aid, one day, perhaps, to make it plain; 
Wliile westward stretches, to the Orient boundless, 

An influence mighty, from the Land of Gold, 
Of which no hope can e'er be vain or groundless 

Till all the New has leavened all the Old. 

The Golden Gate, indeed ! where chffs stand sentry, 

And mountains heavenward lift their giant forms, 
And western gales make rough and dangerous entry 

To havens that shut away the wildest storms, — 
rit index for the marvellous City, rising 

To granite strength from whelming waves and 
sands, — 
In wealth, in vice, in power, in good, surprising, — 

Most strange anomaly of human hands ! 

The Golden Gate, indeed ! — when morning flashes 

Its cloudless splendors o'er wave, cliff", and height, 
When wild the surf on rocky Lobos dashes. 

Then glorious, grand, exhilarant, and bright; 
But crowned supreme, wlien cloudland's shapes im. 
mortal 

Attend the sun low down the radiant west. 
And the grand gateway grows a gilded portal 

Tor sailing towards the Islands of the Blest. 

Henry Morford. 



198 POEMS OF PLACES. 

PKESIDIO DE SAN FKANCISCO 1800. 
I. 

LOOKING seaward, o'er tlie sand-hills stands the 
fortress, old and quaint. 
By the San Francisco friars lifted to their patron 
saint, — 

Sponsor to that wondrous city, now apostate to the 

creed, 
On whose youthful walls the Padre saw the angel's 

golden reed; 

All its tropliies long since scattered, all its blazon 
brushed away, 

And the flag that flies above it but a triumph of to- 
day. 

Never scar of siege or battle challenges the wandering 

eye,— 
Never breach of warlike onset holds the curious passer- 

by; 

Only one sweet human fancy intei'weaves its threads of 

gold 
With the plain and homespun present, and a love that 

ne'er grows oldj 

Only one thing holds its crumbling walls above the 

meaner dust, — 
Listen to the simple story of a woman's love and trust. 



SAN FRANCISCO. 199 

II. 

Coimt von Resanoff, the Russian, envoy of the mighty 

Czar, 
Stood beside the deep embrasures where the brazen 

cannon are. 

He wdth grave provincial magnates long had held serene 

debate 
On the Treaty of Alliance and the high affairs of state ; 

He, from grave provincial magnates, oft had turned to 

tallv apart 
With the Commandante's daughter, on the questions 

of the heart, 

Until points of gravest import yielded slowly, one by 

one. 
And by Love was consummated what Diplomacy begun ; 

Till beside the deep embrasures, where the brazen can- 
non are, 

He received the twofold contract for approval of tlie 
Czar ; 

Till beside the brazen cannon the betrothed bade adieu, 
And, from sally-port and gateway, north the Russian 
eagles flew. 

in. 

Long beside the deep embrasures, where the brazen 

cannon are, 
Did they wait the promised bridegroom and the answer 

of the Czar; 



200 POEMS OP PLACES. 

Day by day on wall and bastion beat tlie liollow empty 

breeze, — 
Day by day the sunlight glittered on the vacant, smiling 

seas ; 

Week by week the near hills whitened in their dusty 

leather cloaks, — 
Week by week the far liills darkened from the fringing 

plain of oaks; 

Till the rains came, and far-breaking, on the fierce 

southwester tost, 
Dashed the whole long coast with color, and then 

vanished and were lost. 

So each year the seasons shifted ; wet and warm and 

drear and dry ; 
Half a year of clouds and flowers, — half a year of dust 

and sky. 

Still it brought no ship nor message, — brought no 

tidings ill nor meet 
Tor the statesmanlike Commander, for the daughter 

fair and sweet. 

Yet she heard the varying message, voiceless to all 

ears beside : 
"He will come," the flowers wliispered ; "Come no 

more," the dry bills sighed. 

Still she found him with the waters lifted by the 
morning breeze, — 

Still she lost him with the folding of the great white- 
tented seas ; 



SAN FRANCISCO. ^01 

Until hollows cliased the dimples from her cliecks of 

olive brown, 
And at tiines a swift, shy moisture dragged the long 

sweet lashes down; 

Or the small month curved and quivered as for some 

denied caress, 
And the fair young brow was knitted in an infantine 

distress. 

Then the grim Commander, pacing where the brazen 

camion are. 
Comforted the maid with proverbs, — wisdom gathered 

from afar ; 

Bits of ancient observation by his fathers garnered, each 
As a pebble worn and polished in the current of his 
speech : 

"'Those who wait the coming rider travel twice as far 

as he ' ; 
* Tired wench and coming butter never did in time 

agree,' 

" * He that getteth himself honey, though a clown, he 

shall have flies ' ; 
' In the end God grinds the miller ' ; 'In tlie dark the 

mole has eyes.' 

" ' He whose father is Alcalde, of his trial hath no fear,' — 
And be sure the Count has reasons that will make his 
conduct clear." 



202 POEMS or PLACES. 

Then the voice sententious faltered, and the wisdom 

it would teach 
Lost itself in fondest trifles of his soft Castihan speech ; 

And on "Concha," "Conchitita, " and "Conchita" he 

would dwell 
With the fond reiteration which the Spaniai-d knows 

so well. 

So with proverbs and caresses, half in faith and half 

in doubt. 
Every day some hope was kindled, flickered, faded, and 

went out. 

IV. 

Yearly, down the hillside sweeping, came the stately 

cavalcade, 
Bringing revel to vaquero, joy and comfort to each 
/ maid ; 

Bringing days of formal visit, social feast and rustic 

sport ; 
Of bull-baiting on the plaza, of love-making in the 

court. 

Vainly then at Concha's lattice, — vainly as the idle 

W'iud 
Rose the thin high Spanish tenor that bespoke the 

youth too kind ; 

Yainly, leaning from their saddles, caballeros, bold and 

fleet, 
Plucked for her the buried chicken from beneath their 

mustang's feet; 



SAN FRANCISCO. 203 

So ill vain the barren hillsides with their gay scrapes 

blazed, 
Blazed and vanished in the dust-cloud that their flying 

hoofs had raised. 

Then the drum called from the rampart, and once 

more with patient mien 
The Commander and his daughter each took up the 

dull routine, — 

Each took up the petty duties of a life apart and lone, 
Till the slow years wrought a music in its dreary 
monotone. 

V. 

Eorty years on wall and bastion swept the hollow idle 

breeze. 
Since the Russian eagle fluttered from the California 

seas. 

Forty years on wall and bastion wrought its slow but 

sure decay; 
And St. George's cross was lifted in the port of 

Monterey. 

And the citadel was hghted, and the hall was gayly 

drest. 
All to honor Sir George Simpson, famous traveller and 

guest. 

Tar and near the people gathered to the costly banquet 

set. 
And exchanged congratulation with the EngUsh baronet ; 



204 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Till the formal speeches ended, and amidst the laugh 

and wine 
Some one spoke of Concha's lover, — heedless of the 

warning sign. 

Quickly then cried Sir George Simpson : " Speak no ill 

of him, I pray. 
He is dead. He died, poor fellow, forty years ago 

this day. 

*Died while speeding home to Russia, falling from a 
fractious horse. 

Left a sweetheart too, they tell me. Married, I sup- 
pose, of course ! 

" Lives she yet ? " A death-like silence fell on ban- 
quet, guests, and hall. 

And a trembling figure rising fixed the awe-struck gaze 
of all. 

Two black eyes in darkened orbits gleamed beneath 

the nun's white hood ; 
Black serge hid the wasted figure, bowed and stricken 

where it stood. 

"Lives she yet?" Sir George repeated. All were 

hushed as Concha drew 

Closer yet her nun's attire. " Seiior, pardon, slie died 

too!'* 

Bret Uarte. 



SANGAMON, THE RIVER. 205 

Sangamon, the Biver, EL 

THE PAINTED CUP. 

THE fresh savannas of tlie Sangamon 
Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass 
Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts 
Are glowing in the green, like flakes of fire; 
The wanderers of the prairie know them well, 
And call that brilliant flower the painted cup. 

Now, if thou art a poet, tell me not 
That these bright chalices were tinted thus 
To hold the dew for fairies, when they meet 
On moonlight evenings in the hazel bowers, 
And dance till they are thirsty. Call not up. 
Amid this fresh and virgin solitude, 
The faded fancies of an elder world ; 
But leave these scarlet cups to spotted moths 
Of June, and glistening flics, and hunimiiig-birds 
To drmk from, when on all these boundless laAvns 
The morning sun looks hot. Or let the wind 
O'erturu in sport their ruddy brims, and pour 
A sudden shower upon the strawberry i)l:uit. 
To swell the reddening fruit that even now 
Breathes a sHght fragrance from the sunny slope. 

But thou art of a gayer fancy. Well, — 
Let then the gentle Manitou of flowers, 
Lingering amid the bloomy waste he loves, 



206 POEMS or PLACES. 

Though all his swarthy worshippers are gone. 
Slender and small, his rounded cheek all brown 
And ruddy with the sunshine, — let liim come 
On summer mornings, when the blossoms wake. 
And part with little hands the spiky grass; 
And touching, with his cherry lips, the edge 
Of these bright beakers, drain the gathered dew. 
William CiiUen Bryant. 



San Joaquin, CaL 

THE WONDERFUL SPKING OF SAN JOAQUIN. 

Or all the fountains that poets sing, — 
Crystal, thermal, or mineral spring; 
Ponce de Leon's Eount of Youth ; 
WeUs with bottoms of doubtful truth; 
In short, of all the springs of Time 
That ever were flowhig in fact or rhyme. 
That ever were tasted, felt, or seen, — 
There were none like the Spriug of San Joaquin. 

Anno Domini Eighteen- Seven,' 

Father Dominguez (now in heaven, — 

Obiit Eighteen twenty-seven) 

Eound the spring, and found it, too. 

By his mule's miraculous cast of a shoe; 

Tor his beast — a descendant of Balaam's ass — 

Stopped on the instant, and would not pass. 



SAN JOAQUIN. 207 

The Padre tliouglit the omen good, 
And bent his lips to the trickling flood; 
Then, — as the chronicles declare, 

On the honest faith of a true believer, — 
His cheeks, though wasted, lank, and bare, 
Filled hke a withered russet-pear 
In the vacuum of a glass receiver. 

And the snows that seventy winters bring 
Melted away in that magic spring. 

Such, at least, was the wondrous news 
The Padre brought into Santa Cruz. 
The Church, of course, had its own views 
Of who were worthiest to use 
The magic spring; but the prior claim 
Fell to the aged, sick, and lame. 
Far and wide the people came : 
Some from the healthful Aptos creek 
Hastened to bring their helpless sick; 
Even the fishers of rude Soquel 
Suddenly found they were far from well; 
The brawny dvrellers of San Lorenzo 
Said, in fact, they had never been so : 
And all were ailing, — strange to say, — 
Prom Pescadero to Monterey. 

Over the mountain they poured in 
With leathern bottles, and bags of skin; 
Through the canons a motley throng 
Trotted, hobbled, and hmped along. 
The fathers gazed at the moving scene 



a08 POEMS OF PLACES. 

With pious joy and with souls serene; 
And then — a result perhaps foreseen — 
They laid out the Mission of San Joaquin. 

Not in the eyes of Faith alone 

The good eifects of the waters shone; 

But skins grew rosy, eyes waxed clear, 

Of rough vaquero and muleteer; 

Angular forms were rounded out, 

Limbs grew supple, and waists grew stout; 

And as for the girls, — for miles about 

They had no equal! To this day, 

Erom Pescadero to Monterey, 

You'll still find eyes in which are seen 

The liquid graces of San Joaquin. 

There is a limit to human bliss, 

And the Mission of San Joaquin had this: 

None went abroad to roam or stay. 

But they fell sick in the queerest way, — 

A singular maladie du pays. 

With gastric symptoms : so they spent 

Their days in a sensuous content; 

Caring little for things unseen 

Beyond their bowers of living green, — 

Beyond the mountains that lay between 

The world and the Mission of San Joaquin. 

Winter passed, and the summer came: 
The trunks of madrofio all aflame. 
Here and there through the underwood 



SAN JOAQUIN. 209 

Like pillars of fire starkly stood. 
All of tlie breezy solitude 

Was filled with the spicing of pine and bay 
And resinous odors mixed and blended, 

And dim and ghost-like far away 
The smoke of the burning woods ascended. 
Then of a sudden the mountains swam, 
The rivers piled their floods in a dam. 
The ridge above Los Gatos creek 

Arched its spine in a feline fasliion; 
The forests waltzed till they grew sick, 

And Nature shook in a speechless passion; 
And, swallowed up in the eartliquake's spleen, 
The wonderful Spring of San Joaquin 
Vanished, and nevermore was seen! 

Two days passed : the Mission folk 

Out of their rosy dream awoke. 

Some of them looked a trifle white; 

But that, no doubt, was from eartliquake fright. 

Three days : there was sore distress. 

Headache, nausea, giddiness. 

Tour days : faintnigs, tenderness 

Of the mouth and fauces; and in less 

Than one week, — here the story closes ; 

We won't continue the prognosis, — 

Enough that now no trace is seen 

Of Spring or Mission of San Joaquin. 

Bret Harte. 



210 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Santa Cruz, the Island, CaL 

TO A SEA-BIRD. 

SAUNTERING hitlier on listless wings. 
Careless vagabond of tlie sea, 
Little thou lieedest the surf that sings, 
The bar that thunders, the shale that rings, — 
Give me to keep thy company. 

Little thou hast, old friend, that's new; 

Storms and wrecks are old things to thee; 
Sick am I of these changes too; 
Little to care for, little to rue, — 

I on the shore, and thou on the sea. 

All of thy wanderings, far and near. 

Bring thee at last to shore and me; 
All of my journeyings end them here. 
This our tether must be our cheer, — 
I on the shore, and thou on the sea. 

Lazily rocking on ocean's breast, 

Something in common, old friend, have we ; 
Thou on the shingle seek'st thy nest, 
I to the waters look for rest, — 

I on the shore, and thou on the sea. 

Bret Hiarte. 



SHILOII (PITTSBURG LANDING). 211 

Sliiloh [Pittsburg Landing), Tenn, 

THE OLD SERGEANT." 

•'PiOME a little nearer, Doctor, — thank you, — let me 

VJ take the cup; 
Draw your chair up, — draw it closer, — just another 

little sup ! 
May be you may think I 'm better ; but I 'm pretty well 
used up, — 
Doctor, you 've done all you could do, but I 'm just 
a going up ! 

*' Feel my pulse, sir, if you want to, but it ain't much 

use to try" — 
"Never say that," said the surgeon, as he smothered 

down a sigh; 
"It will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to say 

die ! " 
"What you say will make no difference. Doctor, 

when you come to die. 

"Doctor, what has been the matter?" "You were 

very faint, they say ; 
You must try to get to sleep now." " Doctor, have I 

been away ? " 
"Not that anybody knows of!" "Doctor, — Doctor, 

please to stay ! 
There is something I must tell you, and you won't 

have long to stay! 



212 POEMS OF PLACES. 

" I liave got my marcliiiig orders, and I 'm ready now 

to go; 
Doctor, did you say I fainted ? — but it could n't ha' 

been so, — 
For as sure as I 'm a Sergeant, and was wounded at 

Shiloh, 
I 've this very night been back there, on the old field 

of Shiloh 1 

"This is all that I remember: The last time the 

Lighter came. 
And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises 

much the same, 
He had not been gone five minutes before something 

called my name : 
* Orderly Sergeant — Robert Burton ! ' — just that 

way it called my name. 

" And I wondered who could call me so distinctly and 

so slow. 
Knew it could n't be the Lighter, — he could not have 

spoken so, — 
And I tried to answer, ' Here, sir ! ' but I could n't 

make it go; 
For I could n't move a muscle, and I could n't make 

it go! 

" Then I thought : It 's all a nightmare, all a humbug 

and a bore; 
Just another foolish grape-vine,^ — and it won't come 

any more; 

1 Canard. 



SHILOH (PITTSBURG LANDING). 213 

But it came, sir, notwithstanding, just tlie same way 
as before : 
* Orderly Sergeant — Robert Burton ! ' — even plainer 
than before. 

" That is all that I remember, till a sudden bufst of 
light. 

And I stood beside the river, where we stood that 
Sunday night, 

Waiting to be ferried over to the dark bluffs oppo- 
site. 
When the river was perdition and all hell was op- 
posite ! 

" And the same old palpitation came again in all its 

power. 
And I heard a bugle sounding, as from some celestial 

tower ; 
And the same mysterious voice said : ' It is the eleventh 

hour ! 
Orderly Sergeant — Bobert Burton — it is the eleventh 

hour ! ' 

" Doctor Austin ! what day is this ? " " It is Wednes- 

day night, you know." 
"Yes, — to-morrow will be New Year's, and a right 

good time below ! 
What time is it, Doctor Austin ? " " Nearly twelve." 

" Then don't you go ! 
Can it be that all this happened — all this — jpjpt an 

hour ago ! 



214 POEMS OF PLACES. 

"There was where the gunboats opened on the dark 

rebellious host; 
And where Webster semicircled his last guns upon the 

coast ; 
There were still the two log-houses, just the same, or 

else their ghost, — 
And the same old transport came and took me over, 

— or its ghost ! 

*' And the old field lay before me all deserted far and 

wide ; 
There was where they fell on. Prentiss, — there Mc- 

Clernand met the tide; 
There was where stern Sherman rallied, and where 

Hurlbut's heroes died, — 
Lower down, where Wallace charged them, and kept 

charging till he died. 

" There was where Lew Wallace showed them he was 

of the canny kin. 
There was where old Nelson thundered, and where 

Rousseau waded in; 
There McCook sent 'em to breakfast, and we all began 

to win, — 
There was where the grape-shot took me, just as we 

began to win. 

" Now, a shroud of snow and silence over everything 

was spread; 
And but for this old blue mantle and the old hat on 

my head. 



SHILOH (PITTSBURG LANDING). 215 

I slioukl not liave eveu doubted, to tliis moment, I 
was dead, — 
For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon 
the dead ! 

" Death and silence ! — Death and silence ! all around 

me as I sped ! 
And behold, a mighty tower, as if builded to tlie dead, 
To the heaven of the heavens lifted up its mighty head, 
Tin the Stars and Stripes of heaven all seemed wav- 
ing from its head ! 

"Round and mighty -based it towered, — up into the 

infinite, — 
And I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft 

so bright ; 
For it shone hke solid sunshine ; and a winding-stair 

of liglit 
Wound around it and around it till it wound clear out 

of sight ! 

" And, bchokl, as I approached it, with a rapt and daz- 
zled stare, — 

Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the 
great stair, 

Suddenly the solemn challenge broke of — ' Halt, and 
who goes there ! ' 
* I 'm a friend,' I said, ' if you are.' ' Tlien advance, 
sir, to the stair ! ' 

" I advanced ! That sentry, Doctor, was Elijah Ballan- 

tyne ! — 
First of all to fall on Monday, after we had formed the 

line ] — 



216 POEMS OF PLACES. 

' Welcome, my old Sergeant, welcome ! Welcome by 
tliat countersign ! ' 
And he pointed to the scar there, under this old 
cloak of mine ! 

"As he grasped my hand, I shuddered, thinking only 
of the grave ; 

But he smiled and pointed upward with a bright and 
bloodless glaive ; 

'That's the way, sir, to head-quarters.' 'Wliat head- 
quarters?' 'Of the brave.' 
' But the great tower ? ' ' That,' he answered, ' is 
the way, sir, of the brave ! ' 

" Then a sudden shame came o'er me, at his uniform 

of light; 
At my own so old and tattered, and at his so new and 

bright : 
* Ah ! ' said he, ' you have forgotten the new uniform 

to-night, — 
Hurry back, for you must be here at just twelve 

o'clock to-night ! ' 

"And the next thing I remember, you were sitting 

there, and I — 
Doctor, — did you hear a footstep ? Hark ! — God bless 

you all ! Good-by ! 
Doctor, please to give my musket and my knapsack, 

when I die. 
To my son — my son that 's coming, — he won't get 

here till I die ! 



SIERRA MADRE. 217 

"Tell liim his old fatlier blessed him as lie nevei- did 
before, — 

Aiid to carry that old musket " — Hark ! a knock is 
at the door ! — 

"Till the Union " — Sec ! it opens! "Father! Fa- 
ther ! speak once more ! " 

" Bless you ! " gasped the old, gray Sergeant, and he 

lay and said no more ! 

Forcei/the Willson. 



Sierra Madre, New Ilexico Ter. 

ON THE SUMMIT OF THE SIERRA MADRE. 

PEHCHED like an eagle on this kingly heiglit, 
That towers toward heaven above all neigliboring 
heights, 
Owning no mightier but the King of kings, 
I look abroad on what seems boundless space. 
And feel in every nerve and pulsing vein 
A deep thrill of my immortality. 
How desolate is all around ! No tree, 
Or shrub, or blade, or blossom ever springs 
Amid these bald and blackened rocks ; no wing 
Save the fell vulture's ever fans the thin 
And solemn atmosphere ; no rain e'er falls 
From passing clouds, — for this stupendous peak 
Is lifted far above the summer storm, 
Its thunders and its lightnings. As I hold 



218 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Strange converse with the genius of the place, j 

I feel as if I were a demigod, ! 

And waves of thought seem beating on my soul ] 

As ocean billows on a rocky shore ' 

O'erstrown with mouldering wrecks. 

I look abroad, 
And to my eyes the whole world seems unrolled j 

As 't were an open scroll. The beautiful, j 

Grand, and majestic, near and far, are blent ' 

Like colors in the bow upon the cloud. 

Illimitable plains, with myriad flowers, | 

Wliite, blue, and crimson, like our country's flag; 
The green of ancient forests, like the green | 

Of the old ocean wrinkled by the winds ; 
Cities and towns, dim and mysterious. 

Like something pictured in the dreams of sleep; j 

A hundred streams, with all their wealth of isles. 
Some bright and clear, and some with gauze-like mists | 

Half veiled like beauty's cheek; tall moimtain-chaius. 
Stretching afar to the horizon's verge, 
"With an intenser blue than that of heaven, 
Forever beckoning to the human soul j 

To fly from pinnacle to pinnacle -j 

Like an exulting storm-bird : these, all these, f 

Sink deep into my spirit like a spell ! 

Prom God's own spirit, and I can but bow 
To Nature's awful majesty, and weep 

As if my head were waters. f 

Fare thee well, | 

Old peak, bold monarch of the subject clouds, ■ 

That crouch in reverence at thy feet; I go ; 



SIERRA NEVADA. 219 

Afar from thee — to stand where now I stand, 

Oh, nevermore. Yet through my few brief years 

Of mortal being, these wild wondrous scenes. 

On which thou gazest out eternally. 

Will be a picture graven on my life, 

A portion of my never-dying soul. 

What God has pictured Time may not erase. 

George Letiison Pre.Uice. 



Sierra Nevada, Cal. 

TO THE SIERRAS. 

YE snow-capped mountains, basking in the sun, 
Like fleecy clouds that deck the summer skies, 
On you I gaze, when day's dull task is done. 
Till night shuts out your glories from my eyes. 

!For stormy turmoil and ambition's strife 
I find in you a solace and a balm, — 

Derive a higher purpose, truer life. 

From your pale splendor, passionless and calm. 

Mellowed by distance, all your rugged cliffs 
And deep ravines in graceful outlines lie; 

Each giant form in silent grandeur lifts 
Its hoary sumuiit to the evening sky. 

I reck not of the wealth untold, concealed 
Beneath your glorious coronal of snows, 



220 POEMS or PLACES. 

Whose budding treasure, yet but scarce revealed. 
Shall blossom into trade, — a golden rose. 

A mighty realm is waking at your feet 
To life and beauty, from the lap of Time, 

With cities vast, where millions yet shall meet, 
And Peace shall reign in majesty subhme. 

E-ock-ribbed Sierras, with your crests of snow, 
A type of manhood, ever strong and true, 

Whose heart with golden wealth should ever glow, 
Whose thoughts in purity should symbol you. 

John J. Owen. 



Stanislaus, the River, CaL 

THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLOW. 

I RE SIDE at Table Mountain, and my name is 
Truthful James. 
I am not up to small deceit, or any sinful games ; 
And T '11 tell in simple language what I know about 

the row 
That broke up our society upon the Stanislow. 

But first I would remark, that it is not a proper plan 
Eor any scientific gent to whale his fellow-man, 
And, if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim. 
To lay for that same member for to " put a head " on 
him. 



STANISLAUS, THE RIVER. 321 

Now, nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see 
Than the first six months' proceedings of that same 

society, 
Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones 
That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of 

Jones. 

Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed 

there, 
From those same bones, an animal that was extremely 

rare ; 
And Jones then asked the Chair for a suspension of 

the rules. 
Till he could prove that those same bones were one of 

his lost mules. 

Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, and said he was 

at fault. 
It seemed he had been trespassing on Jones's family 

vault : 
He was a most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown; 
And on several occasions he had cleaned out the town. 

Now, I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent 
To say another is an ass, — at least, to all intent : 
Nor should the individual who happens to be meant 
Reply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent. 

Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order, 
— when 

A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdo- 
men ; 



222 POEMS OF PLACES. 

And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up 

on tlie floor. 
And the subsequent proceedings interested him no 

more. 

Por, in less time than I write it, every member did 

engage 
In a warfare with the remnants of a palaeozoic age ; 
And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger 

was a sin. 
Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of 

Thompson in. 

And this is all I have to say of these improper games : 

Eor I Hve at Table Mountain, and my name is Truth- 
fid James ; 

And I've told in simple language what I know about 
the row 

That broke up our society upon the Stanislow. 

Bret Harte. 



Superior, the Lake, 

ON KECEIYING AN EAGLE'S QUILL FROM LAKE SUPERIOR. 

ALL day the darkness and the cold 
Upon my heart have lain. 
Like shadows on the winter sky. 
Like frost upon the pane; 



SUPERIOR, THE LAKE. 223 

But now my torpid fancy wakes, 

And, on thy eagle's plume, 
Rides forth, like Sindbad on Lis bird. 

Or witch upon her broom! 

«^ Below me roar the rocking pines, 
Before me spreads the lake 
"Whose long and solemn-sounding waves 
Against the sunset break. 

I hear the wild rice-eater thresh 

The grain he has not sown; 
I see, Avith flashing scythe of fire. 

The prairie harvest mown ! 

I hear the far-off voyager's horn ; 

I see the Yankee's trail; — 
His foot on every mountain-pass. 

On every stream his sail. 

By forest, lake, and waterfall, 

I see his pedler show; 
The mighty mingling witii the niean. 

The lofty with the low. 

He 's whittling by St. Mary's Falls, 

Upon his loaded waiu ; 
He's measuring o'er the Pictured Rocks, 

With eager eyes of gain. 

I hear the mattock in the mine. 
The axe-stroke in the dell. 



814 POEMS OF PLACES. 



The clamor from tlie Indian lodgre. 



The Jesuit chapel bell ! 

\ 
I see the s-warthy trappers come | 

From Mississippi's springs ; ! 

And war-chiefs with their painted brows, 

And crests of eagle wings. 

Behind the scared squaw's birch canoe i 

The steamer smokes and raves ; ' 

And city lots are staked for sale 
Above old Indian graves. 

I hear the tread of pioneers 

Of nations yet to be ; 
The first low wash of waves, where soon i 

Shall roU a human sea. i 

The rudiments of empire here i 

Are plastic yet and warm ; | 

The chaos of a mighty world .j 

Is rounding into form ! : 

Each rude and jostling fragment soon ; 

Its fitting place shall find, — I 

The raw material of a State, \ 

Its muscle and its mind ! 

And, westering still, tlie star which leads ! 

The New World in its train 

Has tipped with fire the icy spears [ 

Of many a mountain chain. J 



SUPERIOR, THE LAKE. 225 

Tlie snowy cones of Oregon 

Are kindling on its way; 
And California's golden sands 

Gleam brighter in its ray ! j 

Then blessings on thy eagle quill. 

As, wandering far and wide, 1 

I thank thee for this twilight dream \ 

And Fancy's airy ride ! ,' 

* * * ^ , 

John Greenleaf Wliittier. \ 



LAKE SUPERIOR. 



/ TIATHEU of Lakes ! thy waters bend 
J: Beyond the eagle's utmost view. 
When, throned in heaven, he sees thee send 
Back to the sky its world of blue. 

Boundless and deep, the forests weave 
Their twilight shade thy borders o'er, 

And threatening cliffs, like giants, heave 
Their rugged forms along thy shore. 

Pale Silence, mid thy hollow caves, 
With listening ear, in sadness broods ; 

Or startled Echo, o'er thy waves, 

Sends the hoarse wolf-notes of thy woods. 

Nor can the light canoes, that glide 
Across thy breast like things of air. 



1 

226 POEMS OF PLACES. \ 



Chase from thy lone and level tide 
The spell of stillness reigning there. 

Yet round this waste of wood and wave, 

Unheard, unseen, a spirit lives, 
That, breathing o'er each rock and cave. 

To all a wild, strange aspect gives. 

The thunder-riven oak, that flings 

Its grisly arms athwart the sky, 
A sudden, startling image brings 

To the lone traveller's kindled eye. 

The gnarled and braided boughs, that show 
Their dim forms in the forest shade. 

Like wrestling serpents seem, and throw 
Fantastic horrors through the glade. 

The very echoes round this shore 

Have caught a strange and gibbering tone ; 

Tor they have told the war-whoop o'er. 
Till the wild chorus is their own. 

Wave of the wilderness, adieu! 

Adieu, ye rocks, ye wilds and woods ! 
Roll on, thou element of blue. 

And fill these awful solitudes ! 

Thou hast no tale to tell of man, — 
God is thy theme. Ye sounding caves. 

Whisper of Him, whose miglity plan 
Deems as a bubble all your waves ! 

Samuel Grisioold Goodrich, 



SUPERIOR, THE LAKE. 227 



THE GKAND SABLE. 

THEN the haudsoine Pau-Puk-Kccwis, 
He the idle Yenadizze, 
He the merry mischief-maker, 
Whom the people called the Storm-rool, 
Rose among the guests assembled. 

Skilled was he in sports and pastimes. 
In the merry dance of snow-shoes, 
In the play of quoits and ball-play; 
Skilled was he in games of hazard, 
In all games of skill and hazard, 
Pugasaing, the Bowl and Counters, 
Kuntassoo, the Game of Plum-stones. 

Though the warriors called him Paint-Heart, 
Called him coward, Shaugodaya, 
Idler, gambler, Yenadizze, 
Little heeded he their jesting. 
Little cared he for their insults. 
For the women and the maidens 
Loved the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

He was dressed in shirt of doeskin, 
White and soft, and fringed with ermine. 
All inwrought with beads of wampum ; 
He was dressed in deer-skin leggings, 
Fringed with hedgehog quills and ermine. 
And in moccasins of buck-skin. 
Thick with quills and beads embroidered. 
On Ids head were plumes of swan's down. 



228 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Ou his heels were tails of foxes, 
111 one hand a fan of feathers, 
And a pipe was in the other. 

Barred with streaks of red and yellow. 
Streaks of blue and bright vermilion, 
Shone the face of Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
Trom his forehead fell his tresses. 
Smooth, and parted like a woman's, 
Shining bright with oil, and plaited. 
Hung with braids of scented grasses, 
As among the guests assembled, 
To the sound of flutes and singing, 
To the sound of drums and voices. 
Rose the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
And began his mystic dances. 

Pirst he danced a solemn measure, 
Yery slow in step and gesture. 
In and out among the pine-trees, 
Through the shadows and the sunshine. 
Treading softly like a panther, 
Then more swiftly and still swifter, 
Whirling, spinning round in circles, 
Leaping o'er the guests assembled. 
Eddying round and round the wigwam, 
Till the leaves went whirling with him. 
Till the dust and wind together 
Swept in eddies round about him. 

Then along the sandy margin 
Of the lake, the Big- Sea- Water, 
On he sped with frenzied gestures, 
Stamped upon the sand, and tossed it 



SUPERIOR, THE LAKE. 229 

Wildly in tlie air around liim ; 
Till the wind became a whirlwind, 
Till the sand was blo\vn and sifted 
Like great snowdrifts o'er the landscape, 
Heaping all tlie shores with Sand Dunes, 
Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo ! 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



THE PICTURED ROCKS. 

WITH his right hand Hiawatha 
Smote amain the hollow oak-tree. 
Rent it into shreds and splinters. 
Left it lying there in fragments. 
But in vain ; for Pau-Puk-Kcewis, 
Once again in human figure, 
Full in sight ran on before him, 
Sped away in gust and whirlwind, 
On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
Westward by the Big- Sea- Water, 
Came unto the rocky headlands, 
To the Pictured Bocks of sandstone, 
Looking over lake and landscape. 

And the Old ]\Ian of the Mountain, 
He the Manito of Mountains, 
Opened wide his rocky doorways. 
Opened wide his deep abysses. 
Giving Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter 
In his caverns dark and dreary, 
Bidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcome 



230 POEMS OF PLACES. 

To liis gloomy lodge of sandstone. 

There without stood Hiawatha, 
Found the doorways closed against him. 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Smote great caverns in the sandstone, 
Cried aloud in tones of thunder, 
" Open ! I am Hiawatha ! " 
But the Old Man of the Mountain 
Opened not, and made no answer 
From the silent crags of sandstone. 
From the gloomy rock abysses. 

Then he raised his hands to heaven, 
Called imploring on the tempest. 
Called Waywassimo, the lightning. 
And the thunder, Annemeekee ; 
And they came with night and darkness, 
Sweeping down the Big-Sea- Water 
From the distant Thunder Mountains ; 
And the trembling Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Heard the footsteps of the thunder. 
Saw the red eyes of the lightning, 
Was afraid, and crouched and trembled. 

Then Waywassimo, the lightning, 
Smote the doorways of the caverns, 
W^ith his war-club smote the doorways, 
Smote the jutting crags of sandstone. 
And the thunder, Annemeekee, 
Shouted down into the caverns. 
Saying, "Where is Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
And the crags fell, and beneath them 
Dead among the rocky ruins 







SUPERIOR, THE LAKE. 231 

Lay the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Lay the handsome Ycnadizze, 
Slain in his own human figure. 

Henri/ Wadsioorih Longfellow. 



THE THREE SHIPS. 

YER the waters clear and dark 
Plew, Hke a startled bird, our bark. 



All the day long with steady sweep 
Sea-gulls followed us over the deep. 

Weird and strange were the silent shores. 
Rich with their wx'alth of buried ores; 

Mighty the forests, old and gray, 

With the secrets locked in their hearts away; 

Semblance of castle and arch and shrine 
Towered aloft in tlic clear sunshine ; 

And we watched for the warder, stern and grim. 
And the priest Avith his chanted prayer and hymn. 

Over that wonderful northern sea, 

As one who sails in a di'cam, sailed we. 

Till, when the young moon soared on high, 
Nothing was round us but sea and sky. 

Par in the cast the ])ale moon swung, — 
A crescent dim in the azure hung; 



232 POEMS or places. 

But tlie sun lay low in the glowing west, 
Witli bars of purple across liis breast. 

Tlie skies were aflame witli the sunset glow, 
The billows were all aflame below; 

The far horizon seemed the gate 

To some mystic world's enchanted state j 

And all the air was a luminous mist. 
Crimson and amber and amethyst. 

Then silently into that fiery sea, — 
Into the heart of the mystery, — 

Three ships went sailing, one by one. 
The fairest visions under the sun. 

Like the flame in the heart of a ruby set 
"Were the sails that flew from each mast of jet; 

Wliile darkly against the burning sky 
Streamer and pennant floated high. 

Steadily, silently, on they pressed 
Into the glowing, reddening west; 

Until, on the far horizon's fold, 

They slowly passed through its gate of gold. 

You think, perhaps, they were nothing more 
Than schooners laden w^ith common ore? 

Wliere Care clasped hands with grimy Toil, 
And the decks were stained with earthly moil? 



SUPERIOR, THE LAKE. 233 

Oh, beautiful ships, who sailed that uight 
luto the west from our yearniug sight, 

Full well I kuow that the freiglit ye bore 
Was ladeu uot for an earthly shore ! 

To some far realm ye were sailing on. 
Where all we have lost shall yet be won; 

Ye were bearing thither a world of dreams, 
Bright as that sunset's golden gleams; 

And hopes whose tremulous, rosy flush 
Grew fairer still in the twilight hush. 

Ye were bearing hence to that mystic sphere 
Thoughts no mortal may utter here, — 

Songs that on earth may not be sung, — 
Words too holy for human tongue, — 

The golden deeds that we would have done, — 
The fadeless wreaths that we would have won! 

And hence it was that our souls with you 
Traversed the measureless waste of blue, 

Till you passed under the sunset gate. 
And to us a voice said, softly, " Wait ! " 

Jic/ia C. B. Dorr. 



HIAWATHA'S DErAETURE. 

BY the shore of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big- Sea- Water, 
At the doorway of his wigwam. 
In the pleasant summer morning, 



2X4 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Hiawatha stood and waited. 

All the air was full of freshness, 
All the earth was bright and joyous. 
And before him, through the sunshine, 
Westward through the neighboring forest 
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo, 
Passed the bees, the honey-makers. 
Burning, singing in the sunshine. 

Bright above him shone the heavens. 
Level spread the lake before him; 
Prom its bosom leaped the sturgeon. 
Sparkling, flashing in the sunsliine; 
On its margin the great forest 
Stood reflected in the water. 
Every tree-top had its shadow. 
Motionless beneath the water. 

Prom the brow of Hiawatha 
Gone was every trace of sorrow. 
As the fog from off the water. 
As the mist from off the meadow. 
With a smile of joy and triumph, 
With a look of exultation, 
As of one who in a vision 
Sees what is to be, but is not. 
Stood and waited Hiawatha. 

Toward the sun his hands were lifted. 
Both the palms spread out against it. 
And between the parted fingers 
Pell the sunshine on his features, 
Plecked with light bis naked shoulders. 
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree 



SUPERIOR, THE LAKE. 235 

Through the rifted leaves and branches. 

O'er the water floating, flying, 
Something in the hazy distance. 
Something in the mists of morning, 
Loomed and lifted from the water. 
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying. 
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer. 

Was it Shiugebis the diver? 
Or the pelican, the Shada ? 
Or the heron, the Slmh-shuh-gah ? 
Or the white goose, Wah-be-wawa, 
With the water dripping, flashing. 
Prom its glossy neck and featliers ? 

It was neither goose nor diver. 
Neither pelican nor heron, 
O'er the water floating, flying. 
Through the shining mist of morning 
But a birch canoe with paddles. 
Rising, sinking on the water. 
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine ; 
And within it came a people 
From the distant land of Wabuu, 
From the farthest realms of morning, 
Came the Black -Robe chief, the Prophet, 
He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face, 
With his guides and his companions. 

And the noble Hiawatha 
With his hands aloft extended. 
Held aloft in sign of welcome. 
Waited, full of exultation. 
Till the birch canoe with paddles 



236 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Grated on the shining pebbles, 
Stranded on the sandy margin, 
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, 
With the cross upon his bosom. 
Landed on the sandy margin. 

Then the joyous Hiawatlia, 
Cried aloud and spake in this wise : 
"Beautiful is the sun, O strangers. 
When you come so far to see us ! 
All our town in peace awaits you. 
All our doors stand open for you; 
You shall enter all our wigwams. 
For the heart's right hand we give you. 

" Never bloomed the earth so gayly. 
Never shone the sun so briglitly. 
As to-day they shine and blossom 
When you come so far to see us ! 
Never was our lake so tranquil, 
Nor so free from rocks and sand-bars ; 
For your birch canoe in passing 
Has removed both rock and sand-bar. 

"Never before had our tobacco 
Such a sweet and pleasant flavor. 
Never the broad leaves of our cornfields 
Were so beautiful to look on. 
As they seem to us this morning, 
When you come so far to see us!" 

And the Black-Robe chief made answer. 
Stammered in his speech a little. 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar : 

"Peace be with you, Hiawatha, 




Till the Black Robod chief, the pale-face." See page 236. 



SUPERIOR, THE LAKE. 237 

Peace be with you and your people, 
Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon, 
Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary ! '* 
* * * 

Slowly o'er the simmering landscape 
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness. 
And the long and level sunbeams 
Shot their spears into the forest, 
Breaking through its shields of shadow, 
Rushed into each secret ambush. 
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow; 
Still the guests of Hiawatha 
Slumbered in the silent wigwam. 

From his place rose Hiawatha, 
Bade farewell to old Nokomis, 
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise. 
Did not wake the guests, that slumbered: 

"I am going, O Nokomis, 
On a long and distant journey. 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To tlie regions of the home -wind. 
Of the Northwest wind, Keewaydin. 
But these guests I leave behind me. 
In your watch and ward I leave them; 
See that never harm comes near them, 
See that never fear molests them. 
Never danger nor suspicion. 
Never want of food or shelter. 
In the lodge of Hiawatha ! " 

Forth into the village went he, 
Bade farewell to all the warriors. 



238 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Bade farewell to all the young men. 
Spake persuading, spake in this wise : 

''I am going, O my x)eople. 
On a long and distant journey ; 
Many moons and many winters 
Will have come, and will have vanished, 
Ere I come again to see you. 
But my guests I leave behind me; 
Listen to their w^ords of wisdom, 
Listen to the truth they tell you, 
Tor the Master of Life has sent them 
Trom the land of light and morning ! " 

On the shore stood Hiawatha, 
Turned and waved his hand at parting; 
On the clear and luminous water 
Launched his birch canoe for sailing, 
From the pebbles of the margin 
Shoved it forth into the water; 
Whispered to it, " Westward ! westward ! " 
And with speed it darted forward. 

And the evening sun descending 
Set the clouds on fire with redness. 
Burned the broad sky, like a prairie. 
Left upon the level water, 
One long track and trail of splendor, 
Down whose stream, as down a river. 
Westward, westward Hiawatha 
Sailed into the fiery sunset, 
Sailed into the purple vapors, 
Sailed into the dusk of evening. 

And the people from the margin. 



SUPERIOR, THE LAKE. 239 

Watched him lloating, rising, sinking, 
Till the birch canoe seemed lifted 
High into that sea of splendor. 
Till it sank into the vapors 
Like the new moon slowly, slowly 
Sinking in the purple distance. 

And they said, " Farewell forever ! " 
Said, "Farewell, Hiawatha!" 
And the forests, dark and lonely. 
Moved through all their depths of darkness, 
Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" 
And the waves upon the margin 
Rising, rippling on the pebbles, 
Sobbed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" 
And the heron, the Slmh-shuh-gah, 
From her haunts among the fen-lands. 
Screamed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " 

Thus departed Hiawatha, 
Hiawatha the Beloved, 
In the glory of the sunset. 
In the purple mists of evening, 
To the regions of the home-wind. 
Of the IS'orthwcst wind Kcewaydin, 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the land of the Hereafter! 

Henry Wadsworih Longfellow. 



240 POEMS OF PLACES. 



Table Mountain, CaL 

PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES. 

WHICH I wish to remark, — 
And my language is plain, — 
That for ways that are dark, 

And for tricks that are vain, 
The heathen Chinee is peculiar, — 

Which the same I would rise to explain. 

Ah Sin was his name. 

And I shall not deny 
In regard to the same 

What that name might imply; 
But his smile it was pensive and childlike, 

As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye. 

It was August the third ; 

And quite soft was the skies : 
Which it might be inferred 

That Ah Sin was likewise ; 
Yet he played it that day upon William 

And me in a way I despise. 

Which we had a small game. 

And Ah Sin took a hand: 
It Avas euchre. The same 

He did not understand; 



TABLE MOUNTAIN. 241 

But Im smiled as lie sat by the table, 
With a smile that was childUke and bland. 

Yet the cards they were stocked 

In a Avay that I grieve. 
And my feelings were shocked 

At the state of Nye's sleeve : 
Wliich was stuffed full of aces and bowers, 

And the same with intent to deceive. 

But the hands that were played 

By that heathen Chinee, 
And the points that he made. 

Were quite frightful to see, — 
Till at last he put down a right bower, 

Wliich the same Nye had dealt unto me. 

Then I looked up at Nye, 

And he gazed upon me; 
And he rose with a sigh, 

And said, " Can this be ? 
We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor " ; 

And he went for that heathen Chinee. 

In the scene that ensued 

I did not take a hand; 
But the floor it was strewed 

Like the leaves on the strand 
Witli the cards that All Sin had been hiding, 

In the game "he did not understand." 

In his sleeves, which were long, 
He had twenty-four packs, — 



242 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Wliicli was coming it strong,- 

Yet I state but the facts; 
And we found on liis nails, wliicli were taper, 

What is frequent in tapers, — that 's wax. 

Wliich is why I remark, 

And my language is plain. 
That for ways that are dark, 

And for tricks that are vain. 
The heathen Chinee is pecuHar, — 

Which the same I am free to maintam. 

Bret Harte. 



Tamalpaisj CaL 

TAMALPAIS. 

HOW glorious thy dwelling-place ! 
How manifold thy beauties are ! 
I do not reckon time or space, — 
I worship thy exceeding grace. 
And hasten, as a flying star. 
To reach thy splendor from afar. 

The first flush of thy morning face 
Is dear to me ; thy shadowless, 
Broad noon that doth all sweets confess ; 
But fairer is thy even fall, 
When seem to cry with airy call 



TAMALPAIS. 



243 



Thy roses in the wiklcniess. 
Thy deserts blithely blossoming, 
Decoy me for the love of Spring. 
With all thy glare and glitter spent, 
Thy quiet dusk so eloquent; 

Thy veil of vapors — the caress 

Of Zephyrus, right cool and sweet — 
I cannot wait to love thee less, — 
I cling to thee with full content, 

And fall a dreaming at thy feet. 

Anon the sudden evening gun 

Awakes me to the sinking sun 
And golden glories at the Gate. 

The full, strong tides, that slowly run, 
Their sliding waters modulate 
To indolent soft winds that wait 

And lift a long web newly spun. 
I see the groves of scented bay. 

And night is in their fragrant mass; 
But tassel-shadows swing and sway. 
And spangles flash and fade away 

Upon their ghmmcring leaves of glass, -'- 
And there a fence of rail, quite gray. 

With ribs of sunlight in the grass, — 
And here a branch full well arrayed 
With struggling beams a moment stayed. 
Like panting butterflies afraid. 

Lo! shadows slipping down the slope 
And tilling every narrow vale. 



244 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Tlie sliiiiing waters growing pale, — 

The mellow-burning star of Hope 

And in tlie wave its silver trope. 
A slender shallop, feather-frail, 
A pencil-mast and rocking sail. 

The glooms tliat gather at the Gate ; 
The somber lines against the sky. 
While dizzy gnats about me fly. 
And overhead the birds go by, 
Dropping a note so crystal clear. 
The spirit cannot choose but hear. 
The hollow moon, and up between 
An oak with yard-long mosses, green 

In sunlight, now as dull as crape ; 

The mountain softened in its shape, 
Its perfect symmetry attained — 
And swathed in velvet folds, and stained 

With dusty purple of the grape. 

Charles Warren Stoddard. 



Tennessee, tlie Biver. 

ox THE SHORES OF THE TENNESSEE. 

''"ITOYE my arm-chair, faithful Pompey, 
i'-L In the sunshine brigiit and strong. 
For this world is fading, Pompey, — 
Massa won't be with you long; 



TENNESSEE, THE RIVER. 245 

And I fairf would hear tlie south-wind 
Bring once more the sound to me. 

Of tlie wavelets softly breaking 
Ou the shores of Tennessee. 

"Mournful though the ripples murmur. 

As they still the story tell, 
How no vessels float the banner 

Tliat I 've loved so long and well. 
I shall listen to their music, 

Dreaming that again I see 
Stars and Stripes on sloop and shallop 

Sailing up the Tennessee. 

"And, Pompey, while old Massa 's waiting 

For Death's last despatch to come. 
If that exiled, starry banner 

Should come proudly sailing home. 
You shall greet it, slave no longer ; — 

Voice and hand shall both be free 
That shout and point to Union colors 

On the waves of Tennessee." 

" Massa 's ben-y kind to Pompey; 

But ole darkey's happy here. 
Where he 's tended corn and cotton 

For 'ese many a long-gone year. 
Over yonder Missis' sleeping, — 

No one tends her grave like me; 
Mebhie she would miss the flowers 

She used to love in Tennessee. 



246 POEMS OF PLACES. 

"Tears like she T^as watcliing * Massa — 

If Pompey should beside 4iim stay; 
Mebbie she 'd remember better 

How for him she used to pray ; 
Telliug him that way up yonder 

White as snow his soul would be. 
If he served the Lord of Heaveu 

While he hved in Tennessee." 

Silently the tears were rolling 

Down the poor old dusky face. 
As he stepped behind his master, 

In his long-accustomed place. 
Then a silence fell around them. 

As they gazed on rock and tree 
Pictured in the placid waters 

Of the roUing Tennessee ; 

Master, dreaming of the battle 

Where he fought by Marion's side. 
When he bid the haughty Tarleton. 

Stoop his lordly crest of pride; 
Man, remembering how yon sleeper 

Once he held upon his knee. 
Ere she loved the gallant soldier, 

Ralph Vcrvair of Tennessee. 

Still the south-wind fondly lingers 
Mid the veteran's silver hair; 

Still the bondman close beside him 
Stands behind the old arm-chair. 



TENNESSEE, THE RIVER. 247 

Witli liis dark-liucd hand uplifted. 

Shading eyes, he bends to see 
Where the woodhmd, boldly jutting, 

Tunis aside the Tennessee. 

Thus he watches cloud-bom shadows 

Ghde from tree to mountain crest, 
Softly creeping, aye and ever 

To the river's yielding breast. 
Ha ! above the foliage yonder 

Something flutters wild and free ! 
" Massa ! Massa ! Hallelujah ! 

The flag 's come back to Tennessee ! " 

"Pompey, hold mc on your shoulder. 

Help me stand on foot once more, 
That I may salute the colors 

As they pass my cabin door; 
Here 's the paper signed that frees you. 

Give a freeman's shout with me, — 
* God and Union ! ' be our watchword 

Evermore in Tennessee.'* 

Then the trembling voice grew fainter, 

And the limbs refused to stand; 
One prayer to Jesus, — and the soldier 

Glided to that better land. 
When the flag went down the river 

Man and master both were free. 
While the ringdove's note was mingled 

With the rippling Tennessee. 

Anonj/mous, 



248 POEMS OF PLACES. 



Vincennes, Ind, 

THE THREE MOUNDS. 

Said liy the old French inhabitants of Vincennes to contain the ashes 
of the savages, wlio fell in a severe battle fought near the commencement 
of the last century. 

TiyHEN o'er the Wabash setting daylight smiles, 
V T And gilds, A^incennes, thy distant spire with gold. 
Why turns the pensive eye to yonder piles, 
Why lingers fancy on their hallowed mould? 

The scene is passed, forever fled the day, 

When chiefs, from Mississippi's monarch tide, 

With Wabash sachems met in war's array. 
And arm in arm each frantic foeman died. 

Cold is their senseless dust; extinct and gone 
The eye of lightning and the pulse of fire. 

The tongue that cheered the struggling warriors on. 
The arm that sought to conquer or expire. 

In yon three rising mounds their bones repose, 
Together there recline the crumbling dead ; 

They rest together, though they once were foes. 
And clasp each other, though they once have bled. 

Imagination loves to trace the scene, 

Ere Europe's strangers trod this western shore; 



VINCENNES. 249 

Wlien Nature threw around licr brightest green, 
And bade her mouiitaiiis bloom, her billows roar ; 

When naught in all this blooming waste was heard, 
Save huntsman's loud halloo and whistling spear, 

Save soothing song of evening's lonely bird. 
And trampling hoofs of flying herds of deer; 

E'en now she views the crimson field of strife, 
The frantic eye, that glared o'er scenes of death. 

The dusky chieftains and the glittering knife, 
The writhing lip, the quick, convulsive breath. 

They fell, but not a thought to heaven arose, 

Nor mute confession of the lips was there ; 
They sunk to nature's last and long repose. 

To earth no lingering look, to heaven no prayer. 
* * * 

Yon triple mounds that bloom o'er Wabash' tide 

Instruct the inquiring footstep where they steep; 
And many a swain shall linger on their side. 

And many a thoughtful eye shall pause and weep. 

For who can view the ashes that remain, 

And think what was, what is, and what must be. 

And yet refuse a tributary strain. 
Nor drop a tear to frail humanity? 

In western wave has sunk the golden day, 
The eagle's wings his cloudcapt cliff regain, 

The tinkling flocks resume their homeward way, 
And pointed shadows wax along the plain. 



250 POEMS OF PLACES. 

Tarewell, Vincennes, and Wabash' crystal wave. 
The nightly owl has pealed his boding cry; 

Tarewell, ye three green tombs, that hold the brave ; 
The world itself 's a tomb, where all shall lie. 

Thomas Cogswell Upham. 



Wabash, the Biver. 

THE WABASH. 

THERE is a river singing in between 
Bright fringes of papaw and sycamore, — 
That stir to fragrant winds on either shore, — 
Where tall blue herons stretch lithe necks, and lean 
Over clear currents flowing cool and tliin 
Through the clean furrows of the pebbly floor. 
My own glad river ! though unclassic, stiH 
Haunted of merry gods, whose pipings fiU 
With music all thy golden willow brakes ! 
Above thee Halcyon lifts his regal crest ; 
The tuhp-tree flings thee its flower-flakes; 
The tall flag over thee its lances shakes : 
With every charm of beauty thou art blest, 
happiest river of the happy West ! 

3Iaurice Thompson. 



WABASH, THE RIVER. 251 



THE WABASH. 

SOFT, silent Wabash ! on thy sloping verge 
As, fixed in thought, I stay my wandering feet, 
And list the gentle rippling of thy surge, 
What moving spirits do my fancy greet ; — 
Wliat flitting phantoms from thy breast emerge, 
Forms for the shrouded sepulchre more meet ! 

In thy dark flowing waters I would see 
More than is wont to fix the transient gaze 
Of vulgar admiration, though there be 
Enough to wake the poet's sweetest lays 
In all thy silent beauty ; for to me 
Thou hast a voice, — a voice of other days. 

Nor can I look upon thee with a heart 
Unmoved by the intrusive thoughts of sadness, 
While fancy pictures thee not as thou art. 
But what thou hast been, when the tones of gladness 
Were heard upon thy borders, ere the smart 
Of stern Oppression turned that joy to madness ! 

How oft upon thy undulating breast 
The light pirogue hath skimmed its silent way, 
When nature all around had sunk to rest. 
And long had faded the last beam of day ; 
And still it onward leaped the moonlit crest 
And dashed delighted through the silver spray. 



252 POEMS or places. 

Urged by the spirit of revenge and hate. 
The savage tenant knit his fiery brow, 
And fanned the flame he knew not to abate 
Save by the unwearied chase and deadly blow. 
Toiling with ceaseless energy to sate 
His vengeance on some far, devoted foe! 

Perchance secluded in yon green retreat. 
Some lordly chieftain, in his pride of power, 
Hath lingered oft in rapturous thought to meet 
His dark-eyed goddess at the sunset hour, 
Where wanton zephyrs dance with flitting feet. 
And kiss in gambols rude each blushing flower. 

Here with the green wood for his temple dome. 
This fragrant bank his consecrated shrine. 
Mayhap the pious votary oft hath come. 
On nature's breast his sorrows to resign; 
Prom day's dull avocations far to roam 
With gazing on such loveliness as thine ! 

Soft, silent Wabash ! thy still waters glide 
All heedless of my meditative lay ! 
But from the tranquil beauty of thy pride 
I '11 gleau such moral teachings as I may ; — 
Howe'er may vary Fortune's fickle tide, 
Like thee in sweet content I '11 wend my peaceful way. 

John B. L. Soule. 



WHITE PINE. 253 

White Pine, Nev. 

THE MINER'S BURIAL. 

FAR, lip tlie mountain's craggy side. 
Upon a rudely fashioned bier, 
Tliey bore liim out from where he died 
(His cabin near the rocky slide). 
With scarce a word, without a tear. 

They hollowed out a fitting grave. 
Close by tJie summit's granite rim. 
Then gathered round and sung a hymn. 
And placed him in the narrow cave. 
"To ashes, ashes; dust to dust"; 
Thus was performed the sacred trust 
That man assumes upon his birth, 
To give the dead again to earth. 

Up to his tomb will clamber still 
The sounds he was so used to hear, — 
The music of the gad and drill 
Beneath the hammer, sharp and clear; 
The deep-toned thunder of the blast, 
A tidal wave of echo cast 
Off from the mountain's rocky crest. 
Shall bear his spirit off to rest. 

There in his lofty sepulchre, 

A league above the distant plain. 



POEMS OF PLACES. 

His ashes sleep the final sleep ; 

And passing clouds which floating skirr 

Across the vast aerial deep, 

In shapes of rugged majesty, 

Oft kiss his tomb in passing by. 

Or, when a calm is in the air, 

Lttce snowy galleons at rest, 

They peaceful lie at anchor there, 

To shut the lower world from view. 

And point aloft to heaven's deep blue. 

The promised haven of the blest. 

John Braijshaw Kaye. 



THE END. 



